


Wolves Aflame

by 372259



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, F/M, Happy Cersei, Jon is not actually evil I promise, Not For Rhaegar Fans, Not for Aegon IV fans, Rhaegar Lives, Rhaenys fans, Rickeen, Rickon fans, Samwell Tarly fans, Shaggydog is coming, Shireen fans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/372259/pseuds/372259
Summary: Rickon Targaryen, third in line for the Iron Throne, wants three things: Shireen Baratheon's hand in marriage, Jon Targaryen's eyes facing East, and Aegon Targaryen's head on a spike. And, of course, to save his sister.{Robert Baratheon doesn't end the dragon dynasty & Lyanna Stark doesn't die in a tower}Story will feature Rickon (born to Lyanna) x Shireen (born to Cersei), CerseixStannis, lots of the Kingsguard (Darry, Dayne, Martell), Samwell Tarly, RobbxRhaenys, JonxDany (eventual), GendryxArya (eventual), Aegon, Oberyn, Rhaegar, Tywin, Jaime, Bran, Renly, Tyrion, others. Balerion gets a starring role ;)[ Re-posted from ffn.net because I feel like there is a larger Rickeen following and 'Rhaegar's not a saint' community on AO3 ;) ]





	1. Chapter 1

**TITLE** : Wolves Aflame

 **AUTHOR:**  372259

 **SUMMARY** : Rickon Targaryen, third in line for the Iron Throne, wants three things: Shireen Baratheon's hand in marriage, Jon Targaryen's eyes facing the East, and Aegon Targaryen's head on a spike. And, of course, to save his sister. {Robert's Rebellion doesn't end the dragon dynasty & Lyanna Stark doesn't die in a tower}

 **PAIRINGS:** RickonxShireen CerseixStannis RhaenysxRobb JonxDaenerys (based on what you guys think, I might add some SansaxWillas, Sansa(or Arya)xOC-Arryn, GendryxArya, or AryaxJaime. Always happy to consider requests). If you're confused regarding the Shireen/Rickon pairing and Jaime/Arya pairing option, read anything on AO3 by FrozenSnares or Jillypups for Rickeen, or anything by GilraenDernhelm or Kallypso for Jaime/Arya, and you will find yourself inadvertently shipping these crack pairings as well.

 **Other Key Characters** : Rhaenys, Aegon IV, Rhaegar, Lewyn, Darry, other Kingsguard members, teh Starks, Oberyn, Tywin, Cersei, Stannis, Tyrion, Renly, Tyrion, Jaime, Arya, Bran, and other Starks (feel free to request others, these are just the ones I have planned so far!)

 **DISCLAIMER:**  Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/ hate it enough to flame ;)

* * *

 **A/N:**  Okay folks, get ready for some major canon bending. This first chapter will set the scene of a new Westeros, whose political landscape may be a more volatile powder keg than even canon  _Game of Thrones_. This chapter is written in more of a  **'scene skip/flashback style'**  to expedite my delivery of the changed history of this altered Westeros, but I will revert to normal writing in following chapters (see  **preview**  at end of this chapter for a taste). Despite trying my best to make it clear, I know altered timelines can be muddy and hard to follow along with, so I have added a ' **summary timeline** ' at the bottom for you to help navigate this altered-verse. I'll try to add one to the end of every chapter (based on new information revealed during each chapter). Also, for those of you who start reading this and find yourselves thinking:  _'Rhaegar would never do something so dumb!'_  Make sure to check out my rant at the end. Though to be fair, I maybe (definitely) went too extra with his post-war decisions, but I reason his behaviours are affected by his war-time decisions (which again, are changed and will be slowly revealed). Something to know about me as a writer is I am a HUGE fan of unreliable narrators, and gossip, and rumours - i.e. I like misleading. Just something to remember when you read things that make you squirm a bit. Enough of my yammering, on with the show!

* * *

_"Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name."_

_~ Dany's Vision, A Class of Kings,_ _Chapter Daenerys IV._

* * *

**.x-X-x.**

**Wolves Aflame**

_Chapter 1:_ _a river without rubies_

_(Wars & Whispers)_

**.x-X-x.**

* * *

_**Robert's Rebellion does not end the Targaryen dynasty, nor does Lyanna Stark die in a Dornish Tower.** _

* * *

.x.X.x.

"The Battle of the Trident took place at a crossing in the Riverlands that is now known as Backbreaker Ford," the Maester begins, before his lesson is (expectedly) interrupted by the younger of his Lord's two sons.

"Maester, Maester!" The guileless boy waves his hand about in the air, in rapid arcs, yet doesn't wait to be called upon before voicing his question. "Why is it called  _Backbreaker_  Ford?" He enquires, with a high-pitched voice and widened bright eyes.

"Don't be so stupid," snorts the elder brother, who is seated next to the younger. " _Everyone_  knows it's called that because that's where Prince Lewyn stabbed Robert the Wronged in his back."

"Robert the  _Rebeller_ ," the Maester corrects firmly. The older boy responds to the Maester's reprimand with an insouciant roll of his eyes, clearly uninterested in adapting the Crown's moniker for the deceased Robert Baratheon anytime soon.

The younger brother is blustering, his rounded cheeks flushing red as they puff up further in outrage. "B-but, he was a  _knight_! There is no honour in stabbing a man in the back!"

The elder boy snorts again, and the Maester makes a mental note to reprimand the heir for this behaviour later. Lords of powerful Vassal Houses do not  _snort_. "I overheard father's knights saying that Prince Lewyn gave up his honour to save King Rhaegar's life. I heard some of the knights even saying that they wished he had let King Rhaegar  _die_."

.x.X.x.

* * *

**Rhaegar's army is victorious at the Battle of the Trident, but the Prince does not escape the field unscathed.**

* * *

.x.X.x.

Rhaeger just barely dodges an enraged swing of Robert's warhammer, a lethal attack that had been aimed at his chest. But, because he turns to avoid a strike to his heart, the blow hits his sword arm instead. Howling in pain, Rhaegar meets the thick mud of the river banks as he collapses onto his knees. In that moment, when Rhaegar looks up to meet a stormy blue gaze, he knows he is meeting death.

But then the fierce, triumphant gleam of Robert's eyes suddenly morphs into shock and horror. Both Rhaegar and Robert glance down to see the bloody end of a broadsword sticking out of Robert's chest. And then the mighty Robert Baratheon is coughing, falling,  _dying._

"L-Lyanna," he wheezes, voice as cracked as his body. Robert's last word leaves his lips no louder than a whisper, while bordered by the bright red blood that dribbles out of his mouth and seeps into the fleshy mud.

So instead of Rhaegar, it is Robert - the victor of their duel - who is sent to greet the Stranger.

A soiled knight's boot steps heavily onto the rebellion leader's back. With a great heave, Robert's corpse gets pushed further into the wet muck while the weapon of his demise is dislodged from his back. As the sword is forced out, it splatters Baratheon blood across Rhaegar's chest. The red droplets land beside the rubies still set in his black armour.  _'Lewyn,'_  thinks Rhaegar dazily, as the Dornish Prince reaches out his arm to pull Rhaegar up from the ground.  _'Lewyn stabbed Robert through the back. I am spared.'_

Rhaegar isn't sure how, but Ser Lewyn eventually gets him into a loyalist medical tent to be assessed. Unfortunately, Robert's last swing had pulverized Rhaegar's right arm. The army's healers say there is no choice but to saw it off before the rot can spread.

They try to be conservative. But, with each segment they cleave off, they notice more and more corruption.

And so, at the rebellion's end, Rhaegar becomes known as the King with one arm and two wives.

.x.X.x.

"The Gods took his sword arm as punishment for his sins." The smallfolk whisper to their children at night. "For dishonouring his loyal Lady wife, and for making the Realm bleed."

.x.X.x.

_Lyanna Stark is given a golden crown to occupy the space on her head that was once rimmed with blue roses. Her older brother does not attend her coronation._

"Ned! Ned, please  _wait_! You don't understand. I could not spend an entire lifetime trapped and unhappy with that drunken, unfaithful–"

"A letter, Lya." Ned's stern voice interrupts. "Just a few words could have saved our father, our brother, the man who raised me, and _my best friend_  who only raised arms because of his  _love_  for you. I do not know when your willfulness warped into such unparalleled self-fixation. Your selfishness nearly destroyed our house,  _has_  destroyed House Arryn, shattered families, and has cost  _thousands_ of people their  _lives_." He lets out a deep sigh. "You are my sister, so I will always love you. And one day I will bring myself to forgive you. But, right now… right now,  _I cannot stand the sight of you_."

.x.X.x.

_King Aerys's ashes are interred deep underneath the Red Keep._

"Killed with his pyromancer," whisper the servants. "Prince Rhaegar entered the throne room just as Jaime Lannister was trying to save King Aerys, but neither were able to stop the Mad King from following his pyromancer into the arms of the flames. Ser Jaime saved Rhaegar from being taken with his father."

.x.X.x.

* * *

_**House Stark is granted clemency for its actions.** _

_**The other rebelling houses are** _ **_not._ **

* * *

.x.X.x.

Varys is shocked at Rhaegar's actions following the war, at how the King's perspective and personality have soured.

"Your Grace, I agree fully with you that the Houses following Robert the Rebeller, and those that did not come to our aid, must be punished accordingly… But, your Grace, with all due respect, these reparations that you have ordered… they are too severe. You are amputating families that are pillars for stability in their respective Kingdoms. Such actions will only further cripple the stability of our war-torn Realm."

"Lord Varys, do not patronize me like some green boy. I am your  _King_." Rhaegar turns his rigid gaze towards the space where his right arm should be. "When a limb rots, you cut it off to save the body. That is all I am doing, severing the rot in Westeros."

Varys does not agree, so Varys whispers.

.x.X.x.

_House Arryn is destroyed: Elbert Arryn dead at the beginning from the flaming grip of the Mad King, and Denys Arryn slain at the end along the murky waters of the Trident. Jon Arryn is put to the sword by King Rhaeger in King's Landing. The steel is swung despite the loud protests of many nobles over how the man is the last of the Great House of the Vale, "the oldest and purest line of Andal nobility!"_

Lyanna bristles. "How could you? How could you execute a man whose only crime was not sending my brother to his death?"

"I need to punish the families who rebelled, Lya, no matter how unjust you think my actions. Jon Arryn was the first to call his banners. The leader behind Robert's name. If I hand out a blanket of mercy now, then their heirs will use it to strangle my own children with another rebellion when I am gone. So, the rebels will be punished as traitors, they will face my justice, and then all the Kingdoms will remember forevermore what happens when they try to usurp the Crown… and what happens when they fail to support it. I refuse to explain this to you once more."

.x.X.x.

_Stannis Baratheon's screams are piercing, and reverberate against the stone walls of the throne room as the blade of a searing sword is pressed repeatedly against the blistering skin of his right arm. While Stannis is held down and mutilated, Renly Baratheon watches on in horror, only 6 years old._

"I hear the King branded the Baratheon brothers with traitor's marks. The older brother on his whole right arm and the littler one on his left hand," says the barkeep, appalled.

"So cruel." Tsks the blonde tavern wench, shaking her head as she gathers up another tray of drink orders to distribute amongst their customers.

"Suppose so." He shrugs, then seems to contemplate. "But, no one never did find that ship that Lord Stannis chased out to sea in that gods-fearing storm - the one that they say had the King's mother and brother. I even hear Queen Rhaella was pregnant when it happened." The barkeep then gives a pointed look to the young girl's own protruding stomach.

.x.X.x.

_Ned Stark fervently protests Rhaegar's brutal branding of the Baratheons. And perhaps the only person who protests as vehemently as the Quiet Wolf of Winterfell is, surprisingly, Queen Elia Martell._

"Robert Baratheon's only crime was fighting for justice, after you foolishly let the Realm believe that you kidnapped and raped his betrothed. It is one thing, to brand a man with a traitor's burn, it is another to harm a child. Renly Baratheon is barely older than Rhaenys. You make me sick." Elia hisses at the King.

"If it was Robert who won, do you think the Baratheons would have spared our children? No. Why should I spare theirs?"

Elia's ashy eyes are set ablaze, and she sneers. (She never used to. Before Harrenhal she had never known hate so strongly that it seeped through and marred her expressions, but she is becoming more and more familiar with the uncomfortable twists that take over her face when speaking with the new King). "Do not tell me you care for  _my_  children, when you left them to  _Aerys_." She shakes her head, and turns away with a bitter smile. "You showed your true colours to the Seven Kingdoms, your Grace. I don't imagine anyone will soon forget. In fact, I don't imagine history will remember this as anything but a wasteful war that destroyed families, all so that a Prince already with trueborn heirs might bed a girl half his age that was promised to his cousin. When people remember you and your beautiful Lyanna, it will not be with love."

.x.X.x.

For not aiding Robert's forces, Tywin gets back his heir.

For not aiding the Targaryen forces, the Lannisters are forced to pay vast reparations to both the Reach and the Crownlands.

_"My father's slights are no excuse to not raise banners for the Crown. Be thankful for your son's actions, Lord Tywin. They are why I let you keep your head."_

.x.X.x.

Jaime doesn't tell anyone – ever – what really happened in the throne room. It is a memory he buries deep in his mind, in the same barricaded dark space occupied by the memories of Aerys's penchant for burning his subjects alive ( _"Burn them all! Burn them in their homes! Burn them in their beds!"_ ) and the haunting sobs of Queen Rhaella ( _"Help! I beg, help me, please!"_ ) _._  Perhaps, eventually, he would have told Cersei… if King Rhaegar hadn't betrothed her to Stannis Baratheon.

 _'_ _A Kingslayer is now the heir to the richest Kingdom in Westeros, while a Kinslayer King wears a crown.'_ Sixteen-year-old Jaime snorts, completely disillusioned with the world.

.x.X.x.

Hoster Tully loses his head. The Blackfish returns to Riverrun to serve as Lord-Regent until young Edmure comes of age. Lady Lysa Arryn – after being confined in the Maiden Vault for enough moons to see if Jon Arryn's seed had taken – leaves King's Landing with a flat stomach, and a shiny new engagement to Jaime Lannister, lauded war hero and scion of Casterly Rock.

.x.X.x.

_The Tyrells, in addition to receiving a lofty sum from Casterly Rock, get..._

_Nothing._

"Your Grace, House Tyrell has loyally supported House Targaryen during these trying times, and we wish only to continue serving your reign and the Realm. I humbly offer my newborn daughter Margaery's hand to your young heir."

"Loyalty to your King is its own reward, Lord Mace. Serving the Crown faithfully is not some great sacrifice to be rewarded, it is expected from our subjects. I will not set the precedent that sworn Houses should remain loyal only when they have a royal marriage to be gained. Your daughter - as the other noble girls - will remain in contention, but not promised."

.x.X.x.

_For not supporting the Crown, Balon Greyjoy (expectedly, at this point) loses his head. This leaves Pyke in the clenched hands of Rodrick Greyjoy._

"Let this be a warning, Lord Greyjoy. Should you ever fail to heed your King's demands again, I will see your entire House eradicated."

"Yes, Your Grace."

 _'The new Liege Lord of the Iron Islands hides his hatred well,'_  observes Rhaegar, as he looks into the younger man's blank eyes.

.x.X.x.

Dorne may have claimed to support the Crown, but it had been slow to engage. Despite their half-hearted support (which was essentially neutrality, until Ser Lewyn led a Dornish contingent to the Trident when Aerys threatened Elia), Dorne receives no rebuke. Any further slight to the now universally well-loved Queen Elia ( _"The True Queen", "The Merciful Queen", "The Queen that was Wronged", they call her)_ after the rebellion would likely just sow the seeds for another.

Little does Rhaeger know, they have already been sown.

.x.X.x.

* * *

**_'Two Queens, Too Many' becomes a favourite song of the bards_ **

* * *

.x.X.x.

Queen Elia Martell:  _"The First Queen", "The True Queen", "The Merciful", "The Slighted", "The Wronged", "the forgiver of the rebels"_. The people chant, the people pray, and the people  _remember_.

Queen Lyanna Stark:  _"The Second Queen," "The Home-Wrecker Queen", "The Mummer", "The Duty-Dodger", "the cause of the rebellion"._ The people think, the people dwell, and the people  _seethe_.

Young Princess Rhaenys is heralded for her kindness and good nature ( _"so like her mother,"_  the people praise), while baby Prince Aegon is heralded as the Iron Throne's heir ( _"be not like your father,"_  the people pray).

But, the newborn Prince Jon Targaryen? He symbolizes what the Realm bled for, and they will never forgive him for it.

.x.X.x.

_Queen Elia grows sicker and sicker, passing away not long after the end of Robert's Rebellion. She leaves behind a crying three-year-old son, a lonely five-year-old daughter, a mourning Dorne, and a seething Prince Oberyn._

"It was the stress of the war so close to the time after her birth," buzz the Ladies of the court. "It was from her broken heart, shamed at being cast aside for another woman, being replaced for a younger Queen."

 _"Oh merciful Queen, heart pure as pearl, meets those lost for a selfish girl,"_  sing the bards, before Rhaegar bans the tune.

"A King who chose lust over duty," fume the Lords of the Realm, who continue to let the tune be played repeatedly in the walls of their castles and at the halls of their feasts. "Robert the Wronged" they start teaching their young heirs.

.x.X.x.

 _Rhaenys Targaryen:_  a kind princess without a mother

 _Aegon Targaryen:_  the heir, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms

 _Jon Targaryen:_  the reminder of the rebellion

And then there comes another.

.x.X.x.

Queen Lyanna announces an upcoming second child not even a year after Queen Elia's death.

"How callous," hiss some whisperers, "to conceive another Prince while the land still mourns their true Queen."

When Queen Lyanna dies in the birthing bed, it is rumoured that only four people in the Realm grieve: the King, her son, and her brothers. The rest of the Northern Houses remember _exactly_ why there are fathers, sons, brothers, and cousins missing from their tables. Their anger is palpable, a thick steam surrounding Lords and their impressionable heirs. ("She soiled her honour and sacrificed Northern lives for a  _Southern crown_.")

.x.X.x.

There is still no word  _from_  or  _of_ Dowager Queen Rhaella, Prince Viserys, or Rhaegar's unnamed sibling. Despite the ships sent searching, the little birds sent whispering, and the eyes sent scouring for blonde strands and violet eyes. Eventually, they are deemed lost at sea, bodies never to be recovered.

.x.X.x.

Not even a day after his second wife's death, the King sends a summon to Storm's End, inviting (commanding) Stannis Baratheon and his daughter to come to court. When they arrive, the girl is ripped from the arms of her nursemaid. Then, Shireen Baratheon is held down while a traitor's mark is burned onto her cheek. Shireen Baratheon, Tywin Lannister's first grandchild, who is  _not even 8 moons old._

"A daughter and two brothers in exchange for a mother and two siblings. Three for three. House Baratheon's debt is paid," declares King Rhaegar to Lord Stannis, though the ruler's words are barely heard over the continued wails of the burnt baby girl.

.x.X.x.

The entire court remains quiet while inside the throne room during the branding. They are not so reticent when they leave the room with the looming dragon skulls.

"That poor girl will be scarred forever. On her  _face._ How heartbreaking. And think of what will happen to her marriage prospects in the future!" Laments one of the noble Ladies, as she strolls through the Keep's Gardens.

"I've heard a Maester was sent for to try and minimize the scarring on the girl." Says her Lady-in-Waiting. "But, I still don't imagine that the Lannisters will ever forget this.  _Now the rains weep o'er his halls_..." The Ladies shiver at the haunting words.

"Branding babies," grumbles the Lady's disgusted sworn-shield. The man spits at the ground, the sticky glob a misshapen bloom in the dirt. "Mark my words, this is the King's first step towards becoming his father."

.x.X.x.

"My  _daughter_!" Cersei roars. "He hurt my child!  _My_   _child_! This is one insult too many, you cannot allow this to go unpunished!" Cersei's uncontrollable fury explodes as she screeches and paces inside Tywin's solar, tearing into stray books and sweeping away letters in her path of destruction. "I'll have  _his_  children slaughtered! His daughter stabbed with half a hundred thrusts! His heir beaten until his corpse is left unrecognizable! And I will have the Wrecker Queen's spawn  _burned alive_!"

To Tywin, in this moment, his daughter is so utterly  _Baratheon._ Of course, Tywin is just as angry, just as ferociously enraged as his daughter. However, the infamous Lion channels his ire  _very_ differently. "We will bide our time in this." His order is firm, his cold tone unyielding. "Rhaegar's reparations have made him no friends. He has started the dial on his own deposition." Tywin's face hardens. "The first thing I need from you is a male Baratheon heir."

.x.X.x.

To most of the war-exhausted Realm's relief, King Rhaegar shows no progression into a heated madness.

Instead, after Lyanna's death and finally completing the deliverance of all his ordered reparations, Rhaegar descends into a cold indifference.

.x.X.x.

 _Prince Rhaegar_ : heralded as intelligent (despite his bouts of melancholy). Rhaegar's harp could bring tears to every eye. History could have remembered him as a well-loved ruler, as a progressive leader who cared for his people.

 _King Rhaegar_ : said to be cold to all his sons (with an occasional smile for his daughter). Rhaegar's reparations rip tears in every Kingdom. History will remember him as a ruler who chose a single girl over the lives of his people.

.x.X.x.

 _King Rhaegar Targaryen:_  the King who chose desire over duty, the King whose choices started a war that ravaged the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Queen Elia Martell:_ the First Queen, who was spurned, but who still advocated for mercy on behalf of the rebelling houses.

 _Queen Lyanna Stark_ : the Queen whose selfishness incited the rebellion; thousands of lives lost for a lie.

 _Princess Rhaenys Targaryen:_  a kind Princess who must grow up without a mother.

 _Prince Aegon Targaryen:_  the heir, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Prince Jon Targaryen:_  the reminder of the rebellion

And then there came another.

.x.X.x.

Prince Rickon Targaryen enters the world by killing his mother.

For this, most of the Realm celebrates him.

(His father, however, never forgives him.)

.x.X.x.

* * *

.x.X.x.

Many years before Robert's Rebellion, three girls in Lannisport slowly approached a tent pitched with murky green drapes.

Only two girls braved the crusty, old crone inside. The witch who was rumoured to tell the future.

In this life, Maggy the Frog gave only one prophecy.

(and in that prophecy,

there is no valonqar,

but there is

 _a crown_ ).

.x.X.x.

* * *

**End of Chapter 1**

(see below for  **timeline** ,  **preview**  of next and upcoming chapters, and my Lyanna/Rhaegar  **rant** )

Side note: Lyanna will get redeemed a bit in the next chapter. Rhaegar will not.

 **Review**  pretty please, it pushes me to put out more chapters! I'd love to know what you all think of this warped AU so far! Also, thoughts on the summary? Grammar? Plot? Etcetera?

* * *

**Timeline summary**

* * *

(for clarity, I ignored the AC year system)

 **Year 0** **-**  Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maesters tell Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die +/- kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant.  **Aegon**   **Targaryen**  born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts.

 **Year 1** **-** **Robb Stark**  and  **Margaery Tyrell**  born. Viserys and a pregnant Queen Rhaella sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheon's seize it, the two Targaryens run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to a storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea.

 **Year 2** **-** Robert's Rebellion ends and  **Jon** **Targaryen** born. End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. Lyanna Stark crowned second Queen. Stannis and Renly get their traitor brands. Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy beheaded. Lannisters pay reparations. Tyrells denied hand of Aegon to Margaery. Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard.

 **Year 3** **-**  Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies.  **Rickon Targaryen**  conceived.  **Sansa Stark**  born to Catelyn Stark. Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **Year 5**  –  **Shireen Baratheon**  (born to  ** _Cersei Baratheon_** ).  **Rickon Targaryen**  born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him).  **Bran** and  **Arya** –twins– born to Catelyn Stark.

* * *

**RANT TIME**

**(Rhaegar will stay a villain in this story, but Lyanna gets some redemption in later chapters)**

* * *

So as you can see from this fic, I am NOT a Lyanna and Rhaegar fan (though I will admit, I have probably been overly harsh in this fic, but mostly because its ffn and I need conflict to write). I, personally, cannot see how anyone can ship them, even if they end up being canon. To be honest, I suspect fans have transferred their love of Ned, Jon, and (early) Arya to Lyanna.

Lyanna's moment defending Howland? Awesome.

Otherwise, I can't help but see Lyanna as selfish and hypocritical. She didn't want to marry an  **unfaithful**  husband, and so she elopes with a  **married**  man (with a family?!) I honestly don't get how fans can support a character like that. Whether held to medieval or modern standards, I just don't get how a relationship like that can be as lauded as it is on forums. It would have taken a letter – a simple letter – or even sending a messenger or literally any form of existing communication to pass along the message to her family that she went of her own freewill. (There are some fans that suspect she  _did_ leave a letter, which her father ignored for his "Southern Ambitions", but until I see proof of that in canon – the girl is thoughtless/ lacks common sense). Some people are like: "But she was young!" In the words of season 7 Arya Stark, please see Lyanna Mormont. And some people are like: "But they were in love!" Please see below.

Rhaegar? He publicly shamed Elia at Harrenhal. It was just so utterly stupid. If he had some extramarital feelings for Lyanna, okay fine. But acting on it in such a public manner in front of her family, her betrothed, his wife's family, the entire freaking Realm that was already holding its breath because of its fire-happy King? Perhaps it is a good thing he didn't ascend to the throne, if that event is a reflection of his political acumen (hence his lack of it in my fic).

Moreover, it wasn't just one of Lyanna's father's bannermen she was spurning, she was spurning the heir to another Kingdom. Now, in medieval times, there is a give and take between freedom and status. High status? You get food, shelter, luxuries, etc. BUT in return you are not free to wed whoever catches your fancy, because your marriage is important to the well-being of your House, your lands, and your  _people._  Low status? Not guaranteed your necessities, but free to marry for love. Lyanna wanted to pick the best from both piles, not giving anything in return.

Some people are like: Rhaegar somehow knew about a prophecy to repel the white walkers and he needed a third child, and Elia couldn't have one! Let's say he was convinced of this. That did not mean he had to  _publicly humiliate his wife_. He could have discussed his need for a 'spare' with her (not even needing to discuss the need for a child to fulfill a prophecy if it was supposed to be a super secret, since back then it was totally understandable for important royals/lords to have an heir AND a spare), and then taken on a mistress. Why did Lyanna need to be  _married_  to him to have his child? Was it for her honour? She clearly gives close to zero f's about that if she wants to ditch her duty to her house and run away from her betrothed. (some people are like, BUT she didn't arrange the betrothal of her own choice, why is she bound to it etc, etcetera. Please see above point re: give and take, and remember that this is a medieval world. Obviously if this was set in modern times, my opinions on the whole Lyanna and Rhaegar storyline would be different - as in, I wouldn't condemn her for running away from Robert, but I'd still condemn her for eloping with a  _married man who had kids_ ). Honestly, if she wasn't down for being his mistress and he wanted a second wife, fine, but announce it publicly (and handle the consequences like adults) instead of running away in secret. All that shows is that you clearly know that the action is wrong, but you are doing it anyways, and to hell with the consequences others are left with.

Some people are like: "But Aerys is mad as a hatter and wouldn't have let Rhaegar do anything! Whether it was take a mistress or second wife or whatever." My response to that is, if the current King is so unstable that you fear what he will do to the people he is around, why would you  _leave your children_  with him to abscond with another woman? (Yes, let's go get another baby for the prophecy, and leave the other supposed two-thirds of the prophecy to be potentially roasted - Aerys was already known to torture trusted advisors and rape is wife - and he was becoming increasingly volatile and crazy af. Is there a single parent out there who would have left their child with your parent if they were acting like Aerys?).

If you disagree with my above rant, please feel free to tell me in a review. I'm honestly confused by this widespread love for Lyanna and Rhaegar, but maybe I am missing something super obvious that everyone other than me is getting? Am I totally wrong in how I'm seeing Lyanna and Rhaegar?

* * *

_**PREVIEWS!** _

(note: these are subject to change when they actually pop up in later chapters, but are currently where the story is heading)

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**PREVIEW NUMBER ONE**

Tansy, proud owner of the Peach, is thrilled that King's Landing is hosting another tourney. Business is always bolstered by the many Westerland and Riverland knights stopping by her establishment while on their way to the Goldroad; knights with deep pockets eagerly seeking a break from their horses and longing for feminine company. The inn is bustling with drunken patrons and her dazzling peaches, but she still overhears one of her girl's at the nearest table. Alyce, a buxom girl with a tenacity as fiery as her hair, is chatting with a pair of Riverland knights.

The redhead slowly trails her hand up the armoured arm of the taller knight as she coyly asks, "So, where're you  _fine_  Sers heading?"

The taller one looks beguiled by her pretty smile, too enchanted to speak. His friend clocks the back of his head, and laughs before answering Alyce.

"Heading to King's Landing for Prince Jon's nameday celebrations. Same direction that I imagine these fellows-" (here the shorter knight makes a grand sweep of his arms (which wobble a bit, but still get the point across) "-are headed. There's to be a tourney."

Alyce tilts her head, playing at interested despite knowing the answers to all the questions she asks ( _'Drunk men tell the same tales,'_  Tansy thinks with a snort.) "Prince Jon, is that the Targaryen son o' the Wrecker Queen or the Stark son o' hers?" she inquires, while signalling one of the Peach's serving girls to refill the mens' cups.

Both knights bark out loud, deep laughs. The taller finally finds his voice, more grizzly than his companion's. "Stark son is right. I hear the Second Queen's younger boy has not a single Targaryen feature. Not one at all."

The shorter one continues. "Aye, I saw them both at the last tourney. The elder of the Wrecker Queen at least had the King's eyes, even his fair skin. And I even heard he was prone to the same bouts of melancholy the King was at his age. The younger lad though, he is  _all northern_ : dark hair, grey eyes, blunt words, and burgeoning broad build." He takes a big gulp of his newly refilled ale tankard before continuing. "They even say he spars as northerners do – all brutal efficiency and the like. Heard from the other knights on our way over that the boy apparently is able to beat either of his  _older_ brothers in a spar. I won't believe that 'till I see it with my own eyes though. The youngest can't be what, more than 11 years? Why, he's still green as grass."

Alyce nods, as if the shorter knight has imparted her with some great words of wisdom. She curls a finger by her pouting lips, her brows slightly furrowing as she wonders aloud in an aimless voice, "Hmm... How does a King love trueborn sons that come from two different mothers?"

The shorter one snorts. "I hear the King pays none but his daughter any mind, and even that is probably out of guilt given the Princess's resemblance to Queen Elia."

The taller knight grows a bit quieter, and Tansy has to strain a bit to hear his gruff voice over the cacophony of the other patrons. "I hear the King completely ignores his youngest, has ignored him since the lad was a babe. Blames him for the death of the Second Queen. Some say the King doubts the boy is even his, but doesn't name him bastard out of respect for the boy's mother."

"What o' Queen Elia's son - what have you heard about the heir?" Alyce frowns. "I hear some… whispers…" she trails off.

"Aye," the taller knight replies, though both knights' expressions darken. "I bet we've all heard the same."

Alyce sneers. "Targaryen madness, the lot of them.  _I bet_  things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won, and the Wrecker Queen did us all the favour o' dying in the birthing bed in her damned Tower."

The knights don't disagree, even the taller one, who respected the crown just enough to say 'Second' Queen even when drunk.

Tansy supposes she should be reprimanding the effusive girl, but honestly, she doubts anyone in the entire brothel disagrees.

* * *

**PREVIEW NUMBER TWO**

Rickon abandons all semblance of propriety when he brings a finger up to trace the smooth grey scarring on the girl's left cheek. The dark wound spans from the cheekbone under her eye to her chin in height. In width, runs from beside her lips nearly all the way to beside her ear. Its far enough away from her lips and eyes though that it doesn't seem to restrict her expressions.

She flinches her face away immediately at his touch, and his frown deepens as she leans back. "Does it hurt?"

Shireen looks petrified, and then her eyes dart down to the library carpet. "…No."

Rickon uses his full hand then, palming her cheek. She does nothing, as he feels the along her traitor's brand. His voice is quiet. "My father did this to you?" though it's more a statement than a question. "You were just a child, not even a year old."

Shireen finally steps away, eyes widening as she hurries to respond. "His Grace was merciful to my family. A traitor's brand was justice for our treachery." Rickon notices that the words flow together too easily, and recognizes the well-practiced lines.

 _'_ _She's not just scared of my name,'_  Rickon realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut.  _'She is scared of me. Scared that I can and will hurt her, and face no repercussions just because of who are families are. Because of the crown on my head_.' Rickon knows exactly what it is to be scared of someone with more power than you – someone who will face no justice, not even a word of reprimand, for harming you.

Rickon makes his decision then, as he leans down to the side a bit and begins to pull up the right leg of his trousers. Shireen looks confused, before blushing bright red and turning her face to the side. "My Prince!" she squeals, "this - this isn't – this is hardly prop-."

Rickon snorts. "I'm sure the virtue of my leg is safe with you, my Lady. Now come on, take a look, there is a point to this."

.x-X-x.

When she looks down she notices the mark, and she feels her eyes widen. She is unable to hold back her soft gasp. "Oh! Oh my. W-what?"

It is an ugly thing, a mottled scar that runs almost a hand's length up the lateral side of his calf. It looks like a knife of some sort was used to carve it. It is as wider than two finger-breadths. And the way the thick cord of scar juts outward, with tight and tiny spider-like branches along its edges, suggests that the wound was quite deep.

Shireen shakes her head and tries compose herself like she knows her father would tell her to do. "How did you get such a wound?" She finally asks as her gaze slowly returns to his face. Shireen knows the jagged cut cannot be from training, no knight would ever harm a Prince so gruesomely. And she's pretty sure there have been no assassination attempts or anything of the like towards the royal family.

Rickon's expression twists, his eyes darken, and his mind seems to go to place outside the solid wooden doors barring the library. "A ' _bastard's_ brand _'_  according to my older brother. I guess he learned that branding was a form of justice from my father. I learned to not best my brothers in sparring quite quickly after this."

Shireen is curious, and her own courtesies have clearly left her, chased away by Rickon's easy familiarity. She bends down and stretches out her hand to follow the meandering of the scar. Her finger tips easily feel it's angry ridges. ' _What hate._ ' She shivers. ' _What kind of person is capable of doing something so violent to their family? To a younger sibling?'_

Rickon's words grab her attention, as she tilts her head up to meet his soft gaze. "I know what it is to fear someone who will face not even a tongue-lashing for harming you because of their  _position_. Trust me, my Lady. No harm to you will ever come from me."

His words are sincere. Purely, wholly sincere. And with that vow, with their shared shy smiles, Shireen Baratheon begins to trust Rickon Targaryen.

(This meeting is the resurrection of revolution. They just don't know it yet.)

* * *

**PREVIEW NUMBER 3**

Jon looks to Daenerys, a woman who is more goddess than mortal. A woman who is more warrior princess than docile lady. A women who has changed his life. He cannot stop the warm gratitude in his thoughts.  _'Thank you. Thank you for showing me that I can be better.'_

* * *

**Review pretty please :)**


	2. chapter 2a

**TITLE** : Wolves Aflame

 **AUTHOR:**  372259

 **STORY SO FAR** : Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We see an insert scene where a pair of kiddos (who do you think these boys are?) are in lessons with their Maester. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there is already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom. Timeline of marraiges/births/deaths in previous chapter.

 **DISCLAIMER:**  Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/hate it enough to flame ;)

 **STORY IMAGES:** I found them on Pinterest, and cannot for the life of me sniff out their original sources. If anyone knows, I would appreciate the sources so I can give them the credit for it!

 **A/N:**  Hi all! First off if you read chapter one prior to like three days ago, I suggest a reread because I added in quite a few details. If you don't want to re-read the entire thing, the two  **biggest changes**  were the  **"tavern wench"**  scene (courtesy of a reviewer who wanted this character to be born – I'm sure you smarties can figure out who is gestating in that scene) and the  **Robert VS Rhaegar fight scene**. Truth is that there are two characters that were going to die in Chapter 2 (and one who wasn't going to be born), but your reviews saved them and made me consider a different role for them. So again, if you want to see something, let me know in a review and I sometimes will rearrange the story a bit to fit it in, if I can and it works with the plot ;) I've also eased up a bit on Rhaegar and Lyanna, which you will see in Part 1 and Part 2 of this chapter, respectively.

 **A/N 2: responses**  to reviewers are at the bottom. As is  **casting** for the characters, and a  **sneak peak** at Part 2 of this chapter.

 **A/N 3: Remember:** in this fic, Cersei never hears valonqar in her prophecy. I.e. her hatred of Tyrion for killing their mother is not amplified by her fear of him one day killing her. And because she initially suspected to wed Rhaegar, she kept her canoodling with Jaimie rated PG (in my head, it was Robert's indiscretions that sent her more into Jaime's arms, even though I'm pretty sure there is canon evidence against that and hinting she was psychotic all along). Also, remember that this is a younger Stannis – one who didn't get divested of his rightful claim by Robert (after fighting a war, surviving a siege, and risking his life sailing through a storm, etc. for him).

On with the show!

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.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

_"_ _A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

_~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

_"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

_~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

_"_ _The best part of him died with her."_

_~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

**.x-X-x.**

**Wolves Aflame**

_Chapter 2: children without mothers_

_(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

**_Part 1_ **

**.x-X-x.**

* * *

**_Rhaegar had thought it justice._ **

* * *

.x.X.x.

Viserys idolizes Rhaegar. Rhaegar is well aware of this, and so tries to accommodate his little brother's childish whims whenever he can. Whether that means watching the boy learn to hold a sword, or letting Viserys tag along with him to the pier, where the younger Prince gapes at the exotic wares of foreign merchants.

But tensions at court and throughout the kingdom have been rising alongside their father's penchant for fire, and Rhaegar has been taking on more and more responsibility. In fact, he just finished spending the entire day listening to complaints and conspiracies, whispering about solutions to his father's worsening madness, and appeasing grubbily sycophantic courtiers. His mind still spins with things he has yet to do, of which is research the prophecy which he has had less and less time to explore. Especially with the upcoming Harrenhal tourney; a tourney that is in itself a stressful affair to be secretly involved in organizing, as it is just a façade. Harrenhal will be a way to gather all the relevant lords (while Aerys Targaryen's paranoia keeps him in the Red Keep), and to hopefully work together to create a means to deal with the fire-crazed King.

Rhaegar is desperate for some silence, seclusion, and time to better study the prophecy. And so it is with quick steps he makes his way to his horse, eager for a quick trip to Summerhall's burnt ruins. Rhaegar plans to have the meeting with the lords at the tail end of the tourney, and if they cannot come up with a solution for his father, perhaps his upcoming study of the prophecy will. Perhaps the remedy to this ailing kingdom will be found in the meaning underlying its words?

In truth, he only  _just_  now,  _finally_ escaped his duties. Exhausted and worn out, Rhaegar wishes for nothing more than sleep, but this is the last chance for him to visit Summerhall and still return in time for the tourney at Harrenhal.

So when Viserys bolts across the courtyard and runs into him (a now drained and desperate-to-leave Rhaegar), and then proceeds to clutch at Rhaegar's trousers with sticky hands, begging for attention, Rhaegar.  _Just_.  _Can't._

"Brother! Brother! You must try these peaches!" Viserys chimes, wide eyed and eager, one hand yanking the hem of Rhaegar's doublet and the other pushing a small orange globe towards Rhaegar's face. The peach in the younger boy's hand is overly ripe, with juice trickling down the child-Prince's sticky hands and then transferring onto Rhaegar's pants. "I climbed a tree for them!" Viserys exclaims proudly. "I gave one to Elia and she said she'd  _never_   _ever_  tasted one so sweet here, and that she would get her brother to send some more peach trees from Dorne for me, and–"

"Yes, that's a good idea, why don't you show it to Elia?" Rhaegar intercedes, his mind already half at Summerhall.

"But—"

" _Later_ , Viserys" And then Rhaegar turns to gather his horse, ignoring Viserys downcast eyes and disheartening frown. Rhaegar tells himself he will spend some time with Viserys when he returns. But right now, he just needs to be alone. Figuring out the prophecy and saving the Seven Kingdoms takes precedence over an attention-starved little boy.

.x.X.x.

Rhaegar never had the chance to make it up to his brother. After Harrenhal, so much had happened that there was no time for training, traversing piers, or eating peaches. To this day, Rhaegar hates the site of the sprawling peach trees in the Red Keep. He would order them removed if they hadn't been a wedding gift from Dorne to Elia. Every time he sees the spindly structures he spends the night dreaming of his younger brother, biting into one of the plump fruits then  _choking._ Gasping for air and drowning, like he would have in the cold, dark depths of the Narrow Sea.

Rhaegar had thought it justice – the branding of the Baratheons. Justice for his mother, justice for his younger brother, and justice for his sibling not even yet born; all of whom would be breathing beside him, yet instead lay lost and dead in their watery tombs. He could have taken Stannis and Renlys' heads, and he was tempted to, but it seemed almost too quick an end to soothe his rage over Robert Baratheon's destruction of his plans. In truth, perhaps Stannis's punishment was so severe because it functioned as recompense for Robert taking Rhaegar's own arm. An action which rendered him no longer able to defend his family with his sword, leaving Rhaegar only his name and his words to wield against current and future foes. At the time, Rhaegar saw no choice but to enact the reparations. He needed to ensure that all Seven Kingdoms knew he was still their leader even without an arm. He had only sparred the Starks for Lyanna, and the Martells because he knew Dorne would never rise against Aegon.

In truth, Rhaegar thought he had been as merciful as he could be in the situation, had thought his actions to be a just punishment for their family's treason.

Elia had disagreed.

To this day, he still remembers Elia's words, and her persistent vitriol towards him after Harrenhal. Prior to that tourney, they had not been in love, but they had at least respected each other. Been kind to each other, fond of each other; they had even been  _friends._

 _"When people remember you and your_ beautiful  _Lyanna, it will not be with love."_

Elia had been right.

Perhaps the only person more hated by the Seven Kingdoms than Lyanna was himself, by smallfolk and nobles alike. He knew the moment he took the throne that his reign would not be one where love powered their loyalty. And so, he needed  _power_  to power loyalty. He had enacted the reparations to showcase his  _uncontested_ power, in the hopes that the country's love of Elia would nullify their hatred of Rhaegar when it came time for Aegon to take the throne.

And it would be Aegon.

He knows that there are some whispers that he meant to depose Aegon as his heir, and give the seat to Lyanna's son. But that had never been the intent. It had not gone the way it was supposed to. Lyanna was supposed to have a  _daughter_. Not a son. A daughter to be the third head, three Targaryens, a pact of ice and fire, dragons reborn – spreading their wings and flying across the sky.

* * *

**Cersei grew up craving power.**

* * *

Cersei Lannister: a beautiful girl born with a name that demanded respect, in a castle that exuded status, and in finery that screamed wealth. She grew up accustomed to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. And perhaps the consequence of such an indulgent upbringing is the desperate drive for the rare item one is without. In her case, that elusive entity had always been  _power_.

For all the power inherent in her family name, others refused her the same power that they gave freely to her brother. And so she grew up craving it, yet having it continually wrenched from her keen grasp. She wanted to learn swordplay, yet her father forbade it ( _"Ladies don't fight with weapons, they fight with whispers and heirs"_ ). She wanted to save her mother, yet the Gods refused her ( _"The gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods"_ ). She wanted to be Queen, and Rhaegar Targaryen denied her  _("The King has ordered you wed Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End"_ ).

Power: denied to her solely based on her gender. Cersei never forgives the world for this.

* * *

Stannis Baratheon is not as handsome as his brother is purported to be, is Cersei's first thought as she notices the young man at the end of the aisle, standing before the Storm's End Septon. The dark and thick fabric of his duvet ends at his elbows, baring the mottled skin of his burned arm for the world to see.

Cersei holds her head high, draped in white silks intricately laced with gold, collared by luminescent diamonds and haloed by a ruby studded veil. She knows herself to be a vision. "The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms," the Storm Lords and their Ladies whisper in awe as she takes her dainty steps towards her new name.  _'And yet for all my beauty,'_  she thinks bitterly, ' _I am no Queen. I merely move from being the daughter of a Great Lord to the wife of one, still with no power to call my own_.'

Her husband-to-be is unexpectedly unimpressed with her magnificence (or at the very least, very good at hiding his desire). The stoic man's expression remains unchanged, despite the gapping mouths and hungry eyes of his bannermen _. 'Perhaps he is a sword-swallower,'_  Cersei ponders caustically,  _'at this point, after these past tumultuous years, I would hardly be surprised with anything.'_

Cersei stands before him now, and uses this closer view to gauge that while he is no Robert Baratheon, Stannis is hardly unattractive either. She imagines most would forgive the larger jaw and heavy brow for his striking cobalt eyes and smooth ink-black locks. He is sinewy, but tall and broad-shouldered. He towers over her by almost a foot, despite being only a year older.

Her subtle appraisal of the man done, she returns her attention to the Septon and realizes the old badger is deeming them husband and wife forevermore. Cersei is caught off guard at that. She had not realized that she'd already said the marriage vows in tandem with the not-unattractive man standing in front of her, but clearly she had. Their hands are now locked with a ribbon, while a thick yellow and black cloak rests on her shoulders.

 _'You'll not be a lion forever.'_ A jeering voice echoes in her mind – the words once spit out by an ugly witch in Lannisport, an old woman whose croaking Cersei had last heard many years ago.  _'You'll be more black than red, manic then dead.'_  The voice tries to continue, but Cersei internally shakes her head. She shoves the crazy crone's words back into the depths of her mind, dismisses them as she did long ago.  _'The old Frog's predictions were already proven false,'_  Cersei reassures herself,  _'no need to put stock in the rest of her senseless words.'_

Cersei tugs her attention back to the present, and she finds herself sitting at the head of a grand table, facing a dining hall in the midst of a wedding feast, by the side of her new husband.

_Cersei Baratheon._

She tests the words in hallways of her head. They don't quite fit, not yet.

The new Lady of Storm's End looks out at the men and women she (her husband) rules over. ' _Strangers. All strangers. Not a single familiar face among them._ ' She wonders if they love her or hate her, love her for her beauty or begrudge her Lannister features. She doubts there will be much complaining during the bedding. At that thought, she almost wretches. She will be stripped down, degraded, in front of  _strangers_. Prodded at and laughed at, by men who see her as nothing more than a body for her husband's heir.  _Strangers_  for whom she will be put out on display, her entire body bare before them. No one had ever seen her so exposed, and now these vulgar men would see her at her most vulnerable. A proud lion, to be used for the entertainment of sheep. She takes an especially large gulp of wine at the nauseating thought.

She is not  _supposed_  to be bitter about Tywin and Jaime's absences.

When her pending marriage was cooly disclosed to her in her father's solar, Cersei had been so uncontrollably furious at being sent away from Casterly Rock that she had demanded they not follow her, lest she claw off their faces. Jaime had been especially affronted by that, and had thrown out some ill-timed witty remark about the integrity of his pretty face. In other circumstances his lackadaisical words might have gathered a laugh from her, but at the time, they had pushed her into slamming the door and stomping away.

She knows why she really banned their presence here.

And that is the horrible truth: they would not have come anyways. There was still tension after the war, lands to be rebuilt, lords to appease, power to display, and Tywin needed his heir to show solidarity, etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera. Jaime would never go against their father, not even for her. She had banned her father and brother because at least then she felt she had some control over the situation, as if she had made the choice to not have them here. She could pretend to be a girl who was choosing to leave, instead of a girl being thrown out of her home, bartered away to another land, and not even given the care of a familiar escort.

_'Did I mean so little?'_

She shoves the stray thought back deep into her mind. It brings up feelings that twist her gut, feelings which she prefers to ignore. She has her goblet refilled.

 _'I'd even take Tyrion,'_  she admits to herself now, a pleasant buzz settling in her head.  _'At least he could be good for conversation, if nothing else._ '

Tyrion Lannister: her Imp of a brother, the persistent thorn in her side. Cersei was never quite sure what to do about him. The brat had killed her mother, ripped through her on his way into the world. And yet he was a Lannister, another person not held as high in Tywin's eyes because of his status as  _'not-Jaime, not my heir, not worth my time_ _—_ _'_

"TIME FOR THE BEDDING!" Shouts a Lord, and Cersei freezes. ' _NO!'_ She screams in her mind.  _'Touch me and I'll have your hand sliced from your arm, I'll have your head on spikes, I'll have your—'_

"There will be no such thing." She hears the heavy and imperturbable voice of her new husband. "Sit down, Lord Horpe." Stannis orders. "Enjoy your food, I believe the musicians are plenty sufficient entertainment for tonight." The latter courtesy seems forced from his lips, and Cersei hears the warning in it as his eyes stay steady on his Vassal Lord.

The large man - Lord Horpe, she assumes - grumbles, then wobbles, but re-takes his seat. Chatter and music resume as they were.

Cersei unclenches her fists, her smooth palms dented with faint little half-moons of almost-blood.  _'Thank you.'_  She thinks, but can't bring herself to say, starring down harshly at her plate because she is unable to look at her husband.

.x.X.x.

When Stannis takes her hand, and leads them out of the hall to retire for the evening, the newlyweds have still yet to a speak a word to each other. Not since the Sept when they said their vows in synchrony, phrases Cersei can't even remember saying, but ancient words that now lock her to him for life.

They enter what she supposes are their chambers, and Cersei no longer holds her tongue. "Why no bedding?" She spent the rest of the feast analyzing his intervention again and again, and found no ulterior motive. But surely there must be one. Everyone always as a reason. ( _"No favour comes without a price," Lord Tywin once advised eight-year-old Cersei_ ).

Stannis turns and looks at her, a confused bend in his dense brow. "I imagine the whole ordeal is a barely tolerable practice for women, even when they have at least their father and brothers to ensure no feast goer's hands become too inappropriate. It is one thing when it is being done by men who have known you since childhood, and respect you enough not to be too aggressive, despite being drunk. But I would not subject you to that here, where you know no one, where these men know you are a stranger to me, and have no reason yet to care for your comfort." He pauses, and his nose twitches. "I am also not duty-bound to offer you to them as some sort of show."

Cersei still doesn't understand. "And why does my comfort matter anything to you?"

Stannis frowns, still standing in the middle of their chambers, just like her. "I do not know what you have heard of me, My Lady, but I hope it is nothing to suggest that I would force you to do anything against your will."

Cersei gives a pointed look to the bed behind her shoulder. "I imagine my comfort won't matter for much longer, My Lord." Her bitter words are forced through a tight smile, at this point she expects him to shove her onto the bed and hoist himself atop her, ripping off her dress before ripping through her maidenhead. After all, that is what she knows. Men who take because they can, women who get taken from because they don't have the power to stop it. (Power, and her lack of it, that is what it always comes down to in the end.) She looks down to her feet, focuses on her silk slippers and notes their delicate nature, gut churning at how easily they could be torn.

Stannis sighs. "A wedding is not complete until consummated. I wish we did not have to do this as strangers, but we have a duty to our houses and a duty to our kingdoms to see this marriage complete."

Cersei is unsurprised, still waiting to be shoved, eyes now glaring holes into the carpet.

An outstretched palm enters her field of vision, and she looks at it, confused.

"Once to satisfy our duty, and I swear never again unless you expressly permit it."

 _'The choice is mine,'_  realizes Cersei, staring bewildered at his open palm. It is the burned one, she realizes, as her eyes follow the mottled skin. There he is, willingly offering her the weakest, most scarred part of him. Cersei has never been given a choice before. She has fought for control, of course, wrestled the world relentlessly for her own ability to choose. But, she has never had control given to her so freely, not like Stannis offers now.

* * *

**Cersei is ordered to wed Stannis. That is not why she stays with him.**

* * *

A month into being the Lady of Storm's End, and Cersei is… surprised.

After the first night (when dawn's light fell against two bare bodies under a sheet, one asleep and the other held to consciousness by racing thoughts), she suspected his open palm to be an empty gesture, a trick that she had naively fallen for so he might tell his  _honorable_ self that he had not forced her. She had thought it a false move, but he held true. He did not ever barge into their chambers drunk, demanding his rights as her husband. He instead enters their chambers quietly in the evening, and sleeps on his side of the featherbed, not a hand out of place.

So, she quickly came to accept that he would not physically force her, but her thoughts continued to race. She instead suspected he would try other ways to manipulate the situation. In fact, she expected him to ignore her, avoid her, and instruct his staff to do the same. She thought he would leave her alone in this new kingdom and this new castle, until she grew so desperate for any attention that she threw herself at him. Only that did not happen either. Quite the  _opposite_.

Stannis actively invited her presence. He asked her if she wanted to sit in with him to hear the complaints of the smallfolk. He invited her to the meetings where the Storm Lords came to report the statuses of their Keeps. He asked her if she wished to join him in approving the stone masons' sketches and numbers for rebuilding war-damaged lands. She even stood by his side as they  _both_  worked to figure out which lands to refurbish first so that they could be prepared for the planting of new crops.

In these meetings, she was not just a trophy. Not just a pretty silent thing for him to carry on his arm as an accessory. No, she voiced her opinion and he listened. She never needed to shout for his attention, to fight for his consideration. He gave it to her freely.

He  _respected_  her.

And slowly, with every night he doesn't force her and every day he asks her opinion, she begins to respect him too.

 _'Perhaps it had been respect that I had really craved.'_ She thinks one night, staring at the ceiling of their chambers, well attuned to the slumbering form not even a meter away from her _. 'Before… had I mistaken power for respect?'_ She turns towards her husband, whose face looks so much younger when it is not fixed in the stoic frown he wears in the day. She has the uncontrollable urge to trace his true face, and her hand is halfway across the bed before she stops it with an iron force and a clenched fist.  _'He is my husband.'_  She chastises herself.  _'I'll not steal touches as though… as though...'_  She turns herself huffily in the other direction, her back to Stannis, not finishing her thought and frowning at the way her hand tingles.

.x.X.x.

On her wedding day, Cersei was a maiden.

Not in every sense, of course. She had lost her first kiss to Jaimie when they were children. Had almost convinced herself that she held non-familial thoughts for him before the Mad King had him sent away to King's Landing. They'd never gone further than secret kisses and straying hands, too young to know exactly what to do next and both all too aware that if Cersei wed the Prince she would need to be intact.

That first night with her husband had been… awkward. Far from romantic, but it had been… kind. And he had been perhaps more than a bit endearing in his innocence. She had liked that he had been somewhat lost, a sign to her that he was nothing like his reputed whore-mongering brother.

But each time she feels the weight of him on their bed, each time she follows the way the muscles in his back move when he switches from one shirt to another, she feels an ache in her stomach and a burning between her legs. While Cersei was a maiden prior to her wedding night, she is hardly a septa. She recognizes her growing desire to be with him… her rising need to have him desire  _her_.

And yet he keeps his virtuous vigil, steadfast in his resolution from their wedding night. At first, Cersei starts to grow annoyed. He has the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms in his bed, and yet this man does  _nothing!_

And then Cersei begins to get paranoid.

 _'Perhaps he has a lover?'_  Her mind taunts,  _'one even more beautiful than you.'_

 _'Not possible.'_  She snarks back. But then a deeper fear is uncovered. Perhaps it is not his eyes that she does not hold.

Does he not succumb to her beauty because his  _heart_  belongs to another? He had never been betrothed before her. But… what if… that had been  _intentional_? Had he held off his own betrothal for a secret lover? Someone low in station, someone who he loved so much he would not dare lust for his wife? Some buxom redhead with smooth skin and long legs, or a svelte brunette with free curls swirling about a pretty face? Stannis did come to their bed at night, but who is to say he didn't visit his lover during the day? Perhaps he sought out the whore when he was away from Cersei's eyes. Perhaps they secluding themselves in a secret room. Perhaps he whispered sweet nothings to into her ear as he bedded the wretch, all while telling her how he  _loved_ her and could never love his wife. What if Stannis had only played innocent their first night just to allay Cersei's suspicions? Or perhaps the open palm had been his own shield, a way to keep them from hurting the woman he truly wanted to be with. Did he make his little vow to not force his wife only to prevent an heir? Perhaps he meant to claim Cersei as infertile, annul their marriage and take his lowborn whore into his house and his bed – appease his bannermen with an heir, and with a new Lady who he'd let be bedded on their wedding night. Did all of their kingdom's lords and ladies know? Did they laugh behind her back, at the gullible Lannister girl who knew not that another held her husband's lov- _affection_?

 _'No!'_  Cersei seethes _. 'I will not be so shamed in my own home. I'll not allow my husband to stray. I'll find his conniving little whore, and rid us of her.'_

So she resolves to be with Stannis even on the rare occasions when there were no smallfolk to be seen, lords to be heard, and workers to be ordered. Every minute she could be with him, she spent with him. Keeping an eye out for a place he passed by too frequently to explain, a bypassing servant girl who took too many rounds.

Two moons later, and nothing. No buxom redheads that he passes too frequently, and no smiling brunettes that pass by him too frequently.

 _'But they will,'_  her mind whispers.  _'Soon he will seek what you deny him from another, and then you will lose him too.'_

* * *

Stannis hates the mark on his arm.

He is glad to still be able to move it. The contracted scar tissue makes it so his range of motion is not full, but overall the tendons and muscles had been relatively spared, per the castle's Maester.

He had not been the handsomest man before being branded, and part of him is more than a little ashamed of the deformity. A part of him hates that he has yet another unattractive feature to show before his wife – a woman who is lauded by the entire Realm for her incomparable beauty.

Cersei Lannister, now Cersei Baratheon… It has been months into their marriage, and Stannis is still not sure what to think of his wife.

Prior to her arrival, he had been more than a little insecure. He was well aware that had things been different, had Aerys not gone mad, that she would have been Queen. And there was the crux of his insecurity; the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, an almost-Queen, daughter of the richest kingdom, ordered into marrying a second son with a hideously burned arm.

She arrived at Storm's End the morning of their wedding. And when he saw the size of her company, he nearly balked.

The Lannisters had sent her here with nothing more than the basics: some serving girls, some guards, some handmaidens, and a seamstress. Stannis knew why, of course. He had grown up alongside enough Storm Lords with the same perspective as the infamous Lord Tywin Lannister – their support came when their daughter had a child. An heir with their blood. Moreover, this had hardly been an arrangement between two kingdoms. This match had been ordered by the King as part of war reparations, and the last thing either of the war-weakened Stormlands and Westerlands wanted was King Rhaegar fearing the two lands were amassing and plotting against him.

He had welcomed her to the Keep, and then had his staff direct her to the rooms she could use to get ready for their wedding ceremony. She truly was gorgeous, he noted when he first saw her exit her carriage. She was as beautiful as she was fabled to be, but she was coldly polite and formal in her brief introduction with him. He remembers doubting she would have ever considered him for anything – let alone her husband – prior to Rhaegar's Reparations, and feeling a bit nauseous at the thought that this entire situation had been forced on her.

She had strolled down the aisle with the grace of a goddess, absolutely radiant. But when she came closer, he had seen the way her eyes were blank and her small smile was as set as stone. He felt that twisting in his gut again – the knowledge that she was being trapped, and that he was to be her jailer.

They did not speak outside their vows, ceremony to feast, not a word. Her eyes remained blank, her polite smile fixed on her face. But then there was a call for the bedding and he saw it – saw her blank gaze give way to fear, to unbridled panic. He saw the way her fists clenched and her eyes watered.

He knew denying the Storm Lords the opportunity to partake in the bedding with such a sought-after bride would annoy them, but hardly more than that. They respected him for taking his branding like a Stormlander, for outwitting the Tyrell siege as a commander untested, and for all the work he had already done to repair the war-torn areas of their lands. They would not begrudge him this, and Stannis had known that, so he offered his new wife a way out.

And when her words relayed the way she expected him to treat her, he had felt the foulest man in the entire Realm. He still regretted it to this day, asking her to give him her maidenhead the night of their wedding, when they had been naught but strangers. But, it had been their duty so he had done it despite the roiling of his moral compass. And now he heard a traitorous voice in his mind that woke him up every evening, that whispered perhaps he had liked it more than he should have, that perhaps he wouldn't mind having her again.

After their wedding, he asked for her to accompany him to his official duties because, in truth, he didn't quite know  _how_  to be romantic. But at least if he kept her involved and busy then perhaps she would not realize it. Moreover, she was smart, he thought. Not unfailingly so, but she had clearly absorbed bits of her father's teachings over the years. She had the ability to see things from the perspective of someone who did not prioritize honor above their goals. She had the ability to know how to sway a man to their view with mere words. Stannis appreciates it, because not all of his lords think as he does, and she has become quite adept at playing Lannister when a Storm Lord needs their reality checked, as well as maneuvering disgruntled lords into accepting his plans.

Of course he and Cersei disagree, not always but often enough, on how to deal with arising issues. And its takes a while, but he teaches her how not to think of pride first (he suspects she still does, but she is at least less obvious about it), and he learns from her how to truly analyze a man's motives. He even finds his definition of duty growing just a touch more flexible.

They settle into a comfortable routine, and she seems content. He begins to feel a bit better about the life he had stolen from her. But then she starts spending time outside of their work with him, and he is lost. Unsure of what to talk about, or where to take her, or how to deal with her at all, really. (But her shift is easier than Renly's, so he figures he will leave his brother for when he has figured out his wife.)

He has yet to decipher her, and so, is completely dumbstruck when he enters their chambers one evening to see the room lit up with candles, and her dressed in a sheer night dress. He is further dumbfounded when she slowly approaches him. His eyes and mind are wholly entranced by the way the silky fabric brushes against her smooth ivory skin, and then he is jolted aware when he feels her warm hand on his chest. He feels the heat of her palm through his clothes, and he wonders if she hears how loudly his heart is beating against her hand. He is still shocked still, not meeting her eyes and instead alternating his focus from her shoulder to her hand.

He is confused, so utterly unsure of what exactly she wants from him. Until he feels her stand on her toes to kiss the base of his neck. He takes her arms immediately then, and gently pushes her away.

(He is fond of her now, after all these months of being by her side, and unsure if he can take her solely because her father is demanding an heir from her. He ignores the part of him that suspects it might hurt him more than just a little if that is the only reason she wishes to bed him again.)

He stays still, his eyes now on the carpet even has his hands gently grip her upper arms to keep her a distance away. He should let her go, he knows, but his hands refuse to listen to him, glued to her soft skin. She solves the issue though, when she shoves her own hands against his chest and wriggles out of his grip.

"Am I so unattractive to you?!" She yells as she wretches herself away from him.

Stannis stands there, stunned and unsure of what to say because how in the Seven Hells has she come to that conclusion?

She continues in her rage. "That you could sleep by my side, night by night, and not even have a  _single_ urge to bed me!"

Bewildered, Stannis sighs. ' _Wives_ ,' he thinks, astounded,  _'are even more difficult to understand than war.'_

He is embarrassed by the hoarseness of his voice, but he responds. "I was quite clear on her our wedding night. And you were too. I am confused as to what exactly you want from me?"

She seems to only be half listening, half in her head trying to figure something out, as if he is the one baffling her, which only confuses Stannis further. Then her green eyes alight in fury, a dark flame he has never seen in her before.

"Tell me true then!" She screams, "Is there another? There must me. Who is she? Tell me, tell me now. I'll have her… I'll have her thrown from the ramparts, I'll—"

This time Stannis cuts off her ranting, affronted. "I'd never dishonor you like tha—"

Cersei seems torn, her rage only intensifying as she cuts him off in return. "You dishonor me by not putting an heir in me! By having the entirety of the Stormlands and the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms thing me  _barren!"_

Stannis was definitely not expecting  _that._ "We've been wed barely seven months," he nearly scoffs, "I doubt anyone calls you barren."

And perhaps his scoff was poorly done, because she steps towards him once more and starts fiercely hitting her hands against his chest, with all of her strength.

.x.X.x.

Cersei hits his chest, her heart twisting and her breath barely reaching her lungs.  _Bang, bang, bang._ Her heart and her fists beat in sync, an angry rhythm. ' _Why don't you love me!' S_ he wants to scream at him.

And then his hands are gripping her forearms, stopping her sloppy assault. She frowns, then glares down at her feet, not willing to let him steal her thoughts from her eyes. "What is this really about?" He all but orders. "Speak, plainly."

But Cersei will not do it. No, she'll not embarrass herself so. Not anymore than she already has with this stupid, stupid,  _stupid_  display. She refuses to splay her heart out for him, only to have him laugh at her face.

"Nothing!" She screeches at the floor. "It was about  _nothing_!" And then she wrenches her arms from his grasp once more, turns, grabs the nearest cloak by the door – ready to wrap herself in it and storm out of this  _stupid idea_  that she should  _never_  have  _ever_  done, and  _damn it all_ why is her vision blurring, she can barely see the damned door. She has only just barely turned the knob, hearing the door begin to creak open when –

Her husband's hands close the door.

She feels his sturdy chest behind her, not even an inch from her back, with both his arms outstretched above her shoulders and his palms pressed against the door, preventing her escape. His hands had not shut the wooden door in a loud slam, or an angry thud. No, it had been a soft pressure that had prevented her from indulging her dark thoughts, the ones that tempted her to run all the way back to the Westerlands.

" _Cersei_ ," he implores. She jars at that. This is the first time he has used her name, and she  _likes_ the way it sounds coming from him. The way his deep baritone says it so smoothly. "Please," he continues "tell me what you want."

And perhaps her name from his lips had weakened her resolve, because she finds the truth slipping from her lips against her better judgement. "I want you to  _want_ me. As a woman _,_ as your wife, as…"  _'As someone you love. Someone you love more than anything and anyone. I want you to care for me most of all. I want someone to always pick me first, and I want that someone to be you.'_

"Do not be offended…" he begins and she feels her gut sink. Cersei feels so foolish in that moment. She had shown him her weakness, and here he stood posing to strangle her with it. Perhaps he senses her bristle, because he is quick to continue. "…when I ask this, but, is this because of word from your father?"

Cersei blinks. ' _What?'_ She turns to face him, her emerald eyes meeting a now familiar dark blue. "What does my  _father_  have to do with this?"

.x.X.x.

Stannis is unsure how to convey to her that he does not want her to launder herself out to him because her father demands an heir from her. He only knows that they stand on a very precipitous edge, and if he handles this poorly there will be no way to ever undo it. Stannis takes in a deep breath before asking her, "has he commanded an heir of you, is that the only reason you want this?"

 _'Is that the only reason you want me?'_  Is what he doesn't ask.

She seems thrown, and he thinks it justice for just a second, for her to finally be the one who is confused.

Cersei's puzzled expression makes way for one of exasperation. "Dear Seven, help me." She rolls her eyes. "How can a man rule an entire kingdom, and yet be so  _dense?_ "

He is insulted for a second, and makes to tell her exactly why he is not dense, and list examples, but she speaks again.

"No." She says firmly, truthfully. And then she cuts off whatever he would have said by throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him.

.x.X.x.

A few heated kisses and hungry touches later, and they are tangled on their bed. Stannis atop her and gripping her bare hip with one hand and her cheek with another. He pulls his mouth from hers, but her arms around his back keep him close. In that moment he curses his own inexperience. But this time it will be better for her, he will make it better for her. So he pushes the words out through a clenched jaw, and feels heat rush to his cheeks. "I… am unsure how to make it… better for you."

She still looks a bit dazed from their kiss so he continues. "I don't… frequent brothels or the like. I'm not - I am not sure how to make this easier for you?" He grits his teeth, hating how hard it is to admit something to her, a woman who deserves so much more than his uncertainty.

Surprisingly, she smiles silkily at his words. She then brings her mouth to his ear and whispers with her heated breath, "I suppose we learn together then."

.x.X.x.

Cersei quite likes this specific power – the ability to make such a stoic man come undone. She revels in it; how her husband is ice to others, but melts at her touch. She is the only one who has this sway over him, the only one he holds so close.

He had given her his respect and then what he could of his heart, and she finds herself giving him the same.

* * *

**Cersei does not know what to make of the little Baratheon boy who spends the days wafting about the castle, quiet as a ghost.**

* * *

_'Perhaps you'll be a rambunctious little boy with his bold eyes, driving your father mad with your antics. Or maybe you'll have his quiet kindness, be stern and strong - a leader all the kingdoms will write songs about. I bet you'll be more skilled with a sword than even Jaime, and a skilled commander like my father and yours. Or maybe you'll be our precious little girl – dancing about the castle to the sound of storms with blonde locks flying behind you and my own eyes staring back at me.'_

Cersei wonders as she wanders, unable to stifle the small smile on her lips as she rubs her growing stomach.

But then her ponderings of the future are hijacked by an echo from the past.

 _'A child with a crown.'_  Maggie the Frog's words resurface, and refuse to submerge back into the depths of her memories.  _'A child with a crown, burned to the ground.'_

Cersei is so distracted by one ghost she nearly crashes into another.

"Apologies" the black-topped boy whispers before trying to circumvent her and go about his way.

"Stop." Cersei orders, watching the boy's back as he halts his movement. In truth, Cersei finds Renly Baratheon… disconcerting. The boy is always quietly skulking about, avoiding everyone in the castle. She sees Stannis's eyes gloss over in worry every time he looks at the boy. She approaches the younger Baratheon, telling herself as she does so that this is nothing so soft as a gesture for her husband.  _'It is... it is a way to ... it is ... well…'_ She needs him on her side, she justifies to herself. She needs to ensure no one will ever try to take her son's seat.  _'That is the reason why I do this,'_  Cersei reassures herself.  _'This is just an occasional kindness to spare my child all sorts of trouble down the road.'_

She tells the boy to accompany her to the library, and he does. He almost forgets to take her arm, and she quickly chastises him for it. "Are your courtesies so far gone that you would have a Lady walk by your side unattended?"

He blushes readily, and Cersei quickly quiets her own amusement at just how much he reminds her of an embarrassed Stannis in that moment.

They reach the library, and the boy makes to leave, before she instructs him again that she would like his company while she finds a book to occupy her time. "What if there is a book that catches my interest, and it is too low for me to reach for... in my current state?"

Their arms stay interlocked as they walk slowly through the large shelves brimming with books. Cersei observes as they stroll. She sees how the boy seems to keep his eyes away from her, looking to the ground as if he is but a lowly servant instead of the youngest son of a Great Lord.

Cersei points to a random book on the lower shelves. At his confused pause, she gives him a raised brow that instructs without words that yes, he better well damned get it for her. When he hands her the tome, she struts her way to the nearest upholstered chair and he follows. She refuses to admit she is waddling because she would never do something so unladylike as  _waddle_.

She sits, much to the relief of her back, and quickly eyes the title of her chosen read:  _Argella Durrandon: The Last Storm Queen._  It is a legend Cersei hazily recalls.  _'_ _Argella Durrandon - t_ _he one who was forced to wed a bastard-Targaryen_ ,' Cersei remembers, before carelessly dumping the book on an old marble side table and eying the boy before her with a stern frown.

"You were never so quiet before," Cersei prods.

The boy shrugs. (And perhaps boy is the wrong word, he may be 8 years of age but already is easily as tall as any young man three years older.)

Cersei nearly rolls her eyes. Must all Baratheon men be so unfailingly reticent? It is like pulling teeth sometimes, getting them to speak their true thoughts.

"Why now?" Cersei continues to prod. "I have spoken with the staff. You scream in your sleep. What is it that you dream of?"

Renly's eyes stay fastened to the floor, but he responds. "I thought they were going to kill Stannis. When he was screaming, and he was screaming so loud, for a second, I had wished the king would just end his suffering. Would kill him just to stop him from being in so much pain. And all those courtiers, they just… they just  _watched_ Stannis screaming and they did  _nothing."_  His burned hand – the left one - clenches, and he loudly gulps in air before pulling his gaze from the floor and looking right at her. "And when they brought me before the king, I thought… I thought he was going to kill me. I thought he was going to kill me and make Stannis watch. And I had never been so scared of anything."

That Renly had answered so easily and honestly threw Cersei off, and she supposes her surprise shows on her face, because the boy's mouth tugs into a small attempt at a smile before he continues. "It was not some big secret. You're just the only one who has asked."

Cersei nods, unsure of how to reply to such a personal revelation. She falls back on her own upbringing, and imagines what her father might do.

"So will you do about it?" Cersei orders. "The fear?"

Renly bristles. "I am  _not_  afraid now—"

"Yes, you are." Cersei interrupts. "You are afraid to be happy lest the King swoop down in the night to take away your happiness."

Renly's eyes widen.

Cersei continues, unfettered by his discomfort. "So I ask you again.  _What will you do_?"

Renly frowns, clearly unsure of how she wants him to respond.

Cersei stands from her seat. "Let me tell you what you will not do. You will not cower. You will not make yourself a ghost in your own home. You will not allow that burn to steal your mind. You will not let Rhaegar Targaryen win. You will find some purpose. And you shall fight for it." Cersei's eyes harden. "When you fight against fear, there is no middle ground. You win or you die."

Cersei picks that time to strategically caress her own protruding stomach. Renly's gaze is drawn to it, his expression becoming pensive.

Cersei announces then, her own lips quirking up, "The Maester says he thinks it will be a boy. Low set, or some other such nonsense."

Renly's brow furrows. "There are so few of us now. Those who are Baratheons by blood. He'd be my nephew. I could teach him, protect him from the King." He looks up to her eyes then. "I think I'd like to be strong enough to protect you too."

Cersei almost reflexively retorts that she hardly needs protection from a child, but keeps her mouth shut. Stannis is in her mind then, telling her to not fall automatically to her pride and instead assess the situation for what it really is. And the situation is this: a boy looking for purpose, who has now found one protecting her child.

* * *

_"So what will you do about it, the fear? … Let me tell you what you will not do. You will not cower. You will not make yourself a ghost in your own home. You will not allow that burn to steal your mind. You will not let Rhaegar Targaryen win. You will find some purpose. And you shall fight for it… when you fight against fear, there is no middle ground. You win or you die."_

Stannis turns the words he overheard again and again in his mind, staring at the mottled skin of his arm.

His fist clenches, and his eyes close.

(Perhaps those had been words he needed to hear too.)

* * *

She finds herself tracing Stannis's burned arm in her sleep. The hard skin, the wiry scars, the mottled ridges, she lets the pads of her fingers slowly memorize it all.

She feels it when he opens his eyes, blearily being pulled out of a deep slumber. He turns his drowsy gaze to her, before letting his good hand come to sift through her golden hair. "Who would we have been, if we hadn't found each other?" Her husband asks her, voice husky from sleep.

Cersei meets his eyes, his own question thrown away for now. "You are not to die." She orders him. "Am I clear?"

Stannis seems more alert at her command. He gives her a strange look before staring at her stomach, his hand twitches and she rolls her eyes before taking his hand from her hair and placing it on her stomach.

Stannis's voice grows hoarser. "Then you are not to die either."

He voices a fear that lingers too close to the front of her mind; her own mother had died in the birthing bed. Would Cersei? She knows that she would, if it was a choice. She would die if it meant saving her child. But… if she died, would Stannis hate her child the way her father hated Tyrion? The idea repulses her. And then she is struck with a cold realization. One that nearly drowns her in guilt.

_It had not been Tyrion's fault._

_'What would mother think of me?'_

What would her mother think of how she and her father ignored Tyrion. Of how she insulted her youngest brother for not being beautiful like her and Jaime. Of how she diminished any of his achievements, and cheered at his failures. Of how she had prayed for his death for months after his birth, begging the gods to kill the monster and give her mother back. Of how she  _hated_  the child her mother had sacrificed her life to bring into this world.

 _'She would not forgive me.'_  Acknowledges Cersei.  _'She would hate me, just as I would hate any who dared harm my child.'_  Cersei's eyes begin to burn, and she sees Stannis's eyes widen in alarm. "It's not you," she lets out, hating how wet her voice sounds. "It's just… it's just these  _damned hormones._ " She asserts. And yet, she still lets Stannis pull her close to him, wrap her in his arms, and guide her face into the dip of his neck. She breathes through her tears, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent.

* * *

Cersei walks into Stannis's solar, full of intent and self-assurance. "I am writing a letter."

Stannis quirks a brow from his seat behind the desk. "And you're asking permission?" He hedges, clearly unsure of what to make of her declaration.

"Of course not." Cersei huffs. "I am merely informing you that my younger brother will be coming to stay with us."

Stannis gives her a confused look before turning to finish signing off on whatever he had been writing. He sighs wearily, clearly not too keen on facing her reaction to his upcoming words. "Tywin is unlikely to let Jaime leave Casterly Rock until he gets an heir on his wife."

"Not  _that_ brother. The other one." Cersei corrects, and Stannis stops writing. He looks to her, almost cautiously.

 _'Really?'_ she internally grumps,  _'I have not been so mercurial that he should censure his every thought!'_

Perhaps he reads her growing annoyance, because he quickly voices his contemplations. "I was under the impression that Tyrion Lannister was the only thing you were happy to leave in Casterly Rock."

Cersei's next words are sharp, biting. "I am not so cruel!" And she isn't (not anymore).

Stannis backtracks, his hands before him, palms toward her in a settling motion one might use to calm an irate animal. "I was too blunt, I did not mean to offend you. Of course he can stay here."

Cersei purses her lips, petulant. "I  _wasn't_  asking."

Stannis gives her a knowing look and slowly nods "Of course not." His face stays the same but his eyes are clearly amused.

"He will be good for Renly." Cersei announces.

"You do not need to convince me, I have already agreed."

"I am not trying to convince you, because I am not asking for permission. I'm merely  _informing_  you, as I have  _already_  said." She says emphatically.

"Consider me informed, my lady." His lip quirks to the side, and she feels her own stomach clench at the look. ' _Damned hormones.'_ She struts up to his desk, and takes great pleasure in dramatically grabbing his own ink and quill set before making her way out of his solar.

(His almost-smiles are hers. She is the only one who brings them out, and she takes a good deal of pride in that. She imagines when he holds his son, she might even get a grin out of him.)

.x.X.x.

The Stormlanders respect her. They see her standing tall by Stannis's side, acting as his partner, and they begin to consider her one of their own. The Sotrmland's nobles and smallfolk alike grow in their affections for their Liege Lady. She is no longer Tywin Lannister's daughter to them. She is Cersei Baratheon: fierce and unyielding, like the strongest of storms.

.x.X.x.

Cerseis stands out on the balcony of their chambers, gazing at the darkening sky and the darker waves that crash against the ragged cliffs. She is maybe days away from her delivery, if the Maester's words hold true.

Her husband quietly comes up behind her, and places his warm hands on her shoulders.

"The night grows colder," he tells her. "You should rest, inside."

Cersei doesn't move, her eyes fixated on the waves.

She hears Stannis sigh. "Cersei, please come inside."

Transfixed, Cersei cannot take her eyes off the way the tides attempt to savagely rip the rock from the cliffs. _'What will it be like, to die? To be ripped from this world, cursed to watch my child grow up without me?'_ Cersei nearly loses her breath when she sees a chunk of rock become dislodged from its perch. She watches its descent to the sea with morbid fascination.

"If something happens to me—"

Stannis cuts her off with a vehement hiss, turning her away from the destructive view. "Don't say such—"

" _If something happens to me_ ," she reiterates, annoyed at being interrupted and manhandled. "You'll not treat my child the way my father treats Tyrion. Swear it to me."

Stannis looks almost as affronted as he had been on their wedding night. "I'd never—"

Cersei sneers. "I'm sure my mother thought my father would never either, but look at how that turned out. Now  _swear it to me._ " She raises her hands to clutch his duvet, pulling at it fiercely as she looks up at him. "Swear it!"

"If something happens to you – which it will  _not_ – then I will not waiver in my love for our child. I swear it on every god." He looks deeply in her eyes as he makes his vow, likely sensing that she needs this to calm whatever storm is churning inside of her.

"Good" Cersei nods, seemingly calmer. She leans her forehead into his chest, eyes watering, a feeling of dread sinking in her gut. "Good. That's good."

_'Evil ends are met by evil children.'_

The voice laughs.

_'Punished for sins you would have committed.'_

The voice from her past doesn't stop.

_'What a haunting end your child will meet, for history loves to repeat.'_

_'If I do not survive this,'_  Cersei tries her best to stifle out the voice of past and instead seek comfort in her present. It is with a heavy heart that she sinks into her husband's solid hold and embraces the familiarity of his scent.  _'If I do not survive this... I am glad to have known you.'_

* * *

**A/N: Review pretty please - what do you think of Rhaegar and Viserys? Cersei and Stannis? The bits of Maggy's prophecy you've heard so far? Grammar/spelling mistakes?**

**A/N 2:** **okay, so truth is, this chapter is now being split into two (maybe even three) parts because it is such a monster. Cersei and Stannis, in my outline, were supposed to be like 300 wordstops. Just a little peak into what Shireen was born into. But I just couldn't stop writing them *shrugs*.**

**(Also, did you guys catch all the shouts outs to cannon? hehe)**

**Anyways, next up on the slate:**

-Rhaenys and Lyanna

-Lyanna's thoughts on the rebellion and her choices

-Lewyn's thoughts

-Rickon's thoughts on his brothers

-Rickon and Rhaenys try to run away

**Sneak peaks:**

"Rhaenys does not hate Lyanna, despite everyone thinking she should."

"Lyanna had never meant for her family to break"

"Lewyn faced an impossible choice: duty or honor"

"Rickon is not born hating his brothers. He learns to."

"Rickon cannot lose Rhaenys, especially not like this, dying in a bed as his mother had."

**"They cannot crown a corpse."**

* * *

**Inspiration pics and casting (with mentally edited colouring to match their descriptions):**

**Inspiration pics and casting (with mentally edited colouring to match their descriptions):**

**Swap the "(period)" for a period into your browser.**

**Young Rickeen** :

66(period)media(period)tumblr(period)com/aaaeb398ae81461e2dc7a30c464cdeea/tumblr_mt2o312VyJ1qgtn0oo1_500(period)png (if the link doesn't work, to find this pic, google: the wild wolf prince and the stone princess)

 **Older Rickeen** :

66(period)media(period)tumblr(period)com/0024dbb31d202f80a082707779641a8c/tumblr_o9oygs8mtz1qhrh9to3_r1_500(period)gif (if the link doesn't work, to find this gif, google: she is precious to him rickon Shireen)

 **Rickon**   **Targaryen**  – a cross between jamie dornan as he is portrayed in OUAT (as the huntsman) and Henry Cavill as he is portrayed in the Tudors season 2&3

 **Shireen Baratheon** – Sarah Bolger as she was portrayed in the Tudors and in OUAT

 **Rhaenys Martell**  – google "Elia Martell by LyaStark" – it's exactly how I picture Rhaenys. Link: pm1(period)narvii(period)com/6159/382f80da326450c9281dc6d666932c9cf852a7c3_hq(period)jpg

I guess the actress-equivalent might be Aditi Rao Hydari?

 **Elia Martell**  – Freida pinto (google Freida pinto Elia Martell for some awesome manips!)

 **Lyanna Stark**  – Adelaide Kane - as she is in Reign

 **Eddard Stark (pre-Sean Bean)**  - James McAvoy - as he is in www(period)ablogofthrones(period)com/ideal-casting-game-thrones-roberts-rebellion-movie-mini-series/

 **Rhaegar Targaryen**  – Bradley James - as he is in Merlin

 **Stannis and Cersei**  – older versions of Aneurin Barnard (Richard III) and Faye Marsay (Anne Neville)

* * *

**Response to reviews – HUGE thank you to all my reviewers!**

* * *

 


	3. chapter 2b

 

 

**HERE COMES** **PART TWO OF CHAPTER 2!**

**(which is literally longer than the other two chapters combined, goodness gracious.)**

* * *

**TITLE** : Wolves Aflame

**AUTHOR:**  372259

**DISCLAIMER:**  Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/hate it enough to flame ;)

**PICTURE CREDITS:** Photos are from pinned pages on Pinterest, and despite my online stalking, I cannot find the original creators. If someone knows how to do this, please let me know!

**STORY SO FAR** : Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentiallypunishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We see a cut out scene where a pair of kiddos (who do you think these boys are ? ;) ) are in lessons with their Maester. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there is already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom. In Part 1 (Chapter 2) of this chapter, we saw why Rhaegar was so brutal with his reparations, as well as how Cersei and Stannis came to care for each other (with some hints as to what Maggy's new prophecy to Cersei was).

**A/N : responses**  to reviewers are at the bottom. As is an  **updated timeline.** Forgive the "kiddy-ness" of the kids' chapters – they're young in these ;) I know the first one from Rhaenys's six-year-old POV may be a bit hard to get through, but have patience LOL. Also, as you will obviously notice below, I have taken creative license with the ages of characters (Jaime, etc.) because, well, it's fanfiction.

**P.S. If you are a Gendrya fan, check out my other GOT/ASOIAF fic (The Great Games) and be on the lookout for my upcoming one (Gendry thrust back in time, but as a trueborn Arryn).**  Also if you follow Supernatural, Bleach, Hunger Games, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Degrassi, or the Vampire Diaries - check out my other fics :D

**P.P.S** I definitely would consider this chapter quantity over quality, but honestly, I just REALLY want to get to the main plot in Chapter 3. And the sooner this "fill in the gaps of the past of this AU, convey the new relationships and alliances" arc is done, I can get on with the plot, which will only ever make sense if I preface why certain people are allied and why certain people aren't.

* * *

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

_"_ _A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

_~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

_"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

_~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

_"_ _The best part of him died with her."_

_~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

x

_"_ _It should have been you"_

_~ Catelyn [to Jon], A Game of Thrones_

x

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

**.x-X-x.**

**Wolves Aflame**

_Chapter 2: children without mothers_

_(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

**_Part 2_ **

**.x-X-x.**

* * *

**Rhaenys does not hate Lyanna**

**(despite everyone thinking she should)**

* * *

Rhaenys notices things.

For example, she notices that when Lyanna first arrives to the Red Keep, everyone seems grumpier. Well, everyone except for her father.

Then again, people started being unhappy long before the second Queen came.

Back then, her mum was the only queen. Then there was a long time where everyone in the Red Keep was very scared and very quiet. And then there was a long time when her father was gone. That time had been the most terrifying; her mum would barely let her or Balerion (her cat companion and bestest friend) leave her room. Rhaenys was actually okay with her mum's decision, because at that time her King Grandfather was still alive. Rhaenys had very much disliked the old raisin. His breath always smelled awful, his nails were yellowed and almost as long as her fingers, and he never  _ever_  smiled. Well, except for once…

_'_ _Perhaps trial by fire.'_  Rhaenys remembers his hoarse voice croaking, his breath rattling through crooked lips.  _'To prove the Dornish girl to be a true Targaryen.'_ That had been the last time she saw the old King before her mum confined her to her rooms.

Her grandfather's frightening words still shake her, only now she is old enough to realize exactly what he had meant. Her history lessons let her know for certain that he had been a horrible man, not just a horrible grandfather.

But there were good people in the time before the second Queen, too. For example, her grandfather's horrible words were from some of the last nights when her grandma lived with her too. Rhaenys had liked her grandma, even though the older woman always flinched when Rhaenys gave her a hug. Grandma Rhaella was pretty, kind, warm, and would always smile at Rhaenys and say:  _'Oh sweetling, the coin fell the right way with you.'_

To this day, at six-years-old, Rhaenys still does not know what Grandma Rhaella meant. But coins are shiny, so Rhaenys does not mind having been compared to one.

But Grandma Rhaella went away.

People tell Rhaenys that the kind older woman isn't coming back. Viserys went away with Grandma Rhaella too. People get sad when she asks where he is, then tell her he isn't coming back either. Aunt Ashara went away first. People never answer when Rhaenys asks about her.

No one ever comes back, except her father, who she never sees anymore, so he may as well have never come back at all.

For a while, at least Rhaenys had her mum. (Until she didn't, and sickness took her mum away too.)

Just when it seems like everyone leaves or is taken, Lyanna is the only one who  _stays_. The new Queen is the only one who plays with Rhaenys. All the others are too  _busy_  running around being " _busy_ ". But Lyanna is nice and cheers her on as Rhaenys climbs peach trees - the ones from Dorne that Viserys had taught her to climb. They were named after her mum and were a gift from her Uncle Doran in the south ( _"Elia's Grove,"_ she had heard courtiers call the biggest group of trees).

Lyanna also helps Rhaenys find Balerion.

Balerion may be her very best friend, but he is also a very bad pet. He always disappears into the underground tunnels below the Keep. Their dark depths scare Rhaenys, so she is always too afraid to chase after her friend alone. Her new Kingsguard knight – Ser Darry – could be coerced into coming with her. But he is always grumpy about it, bemoaning how she should just get a new cat.

_"_ _One with two whole ears"._

She doesn't like Ser Darry very much after that comment. Rhaenys misses Ser Jaime.  _'He was fun,'_ she thinks. _'But now he is just another person who isn't coming back.'_  As revenge for her new knight's insult to Balerion, Rhaenys takes to calling him Ser  _Hairy_  in her mind.

_Lyanna_  never tells Rhaenys to get a new cat. The woman even pets Balerion's head and scratches his tummy.

Rhaenys notices that Lyanna is sad sometimes (a lot of times). But, when Rhaenys gives the second Queen a hug, that seems to make Lyanna feel better, just like her hugs used to do for Grandma Rhaella.

"Why are you sad?" Rhaenys asks Lyanna one day, when a hug doesn't work. Rhaenys's words come out garbled because she says them as she bites into a plump peach. She knows it isn't very polite, but also knows Lyanna is one of the few people who will not reprimand her for it. So, Rhaenys grabs another sweet fruit from her dress pocket, one of the prizes from her most recent climb, and offers it to Lyanna.  _'Perhaps a peach will do what a hug cannot?'_

The pretty Queen smiles and takes her proffered share, thanking Rhaenys before responding. "I miss my brothers." The older woman says quietly. They both sit on a stone bench in the courtyard, but with her answer, Lyanna's eyes stray off the peach to look somewhere far away.

Rhaenys works to raise a single brow. (She is proud of her expression. She had practiced it in front of her mirror for an entire day after Ser Hairy gave her the look when she accidentally called him his nickname aloud.)

Rhaenys is very unimpressed by the Queen's explanation. How can Lyanna miss  _brothers_? All brothers do is cry and whine and smell like poop. Once Aegon even threw up on Rhaenys's prettiest dress! So she does not understand why Lyanna misses her brothers.  _'Maybe they are more interesting than Aegon and Jon?'_

"Why don't you just ask them to come to our castle?" Rhaenys asks.

Lyanna sighs wearily. "They don't want to see me."

Rhaenys gapes, offended on Lyanna's behalf. "But why?! You're fun! And you're the Queen, they can't say no to you if you invite them!"

Lyanna's smile turns into a forced thing, and Rhaenys doesn't like it. "Oh Princess, a Queen should not use her crown to command someone to do something they don't want to do." Lyanna pauses, and her eyes seem to glaze over. "So many things could have been different if everyone in power learned the same lesson." Rhaenys feels like Lyanna is saying something deeper with her words, but can't quite understand what the hidden message is. So, Rhaenys takes their conversation back to something simpler instead.

"Why don't they want to see you? I like you."

Lyanna's eyes go warm before they turn sad again. "I did something wro—" Lyanna shakes her head. "Something  _they_  disagreed with, and now they are angry with me."

Rhaenys nods, still not quite understanding. "Why don't you send them a letter then? I'm learning my letters now. That way you can talk to them, even if they won't talk back to you." Rhaenys is quite proud of her answer, she thinks it very smart.

Aegon and Jon can't even read. Or write. They are that boring.  _'They can't even talk proper!'_  Rhaenys justifies.  _She_  can. Maybe not perfectly but she did have her own opinion at least, and that was more than could be said of her little brothers. All Aegon did was cry since mum went away, and Rhaenys would get in trouble by Septa Eglantine whenever she tried playing with her youngest brother (unless Lyanna was there, no one stopped her from approaching Jon when Lyanna was there). But either way, Jon just slept.

She had one brother who spent the day crying, and another who spent the day sleeping.

_'_ _Brothers are dull things.'_ Rhaenys eyes latch onto Lyanna's giant stomach. _'Perhaps my next one will be interesting?'_

And Rhaenys knows it will be a boy, regardless of what her father wants. She overheard him, talking with the Maester. Not Maester Pycelle, but the other, newer one she sometimes saw around the keep. The one who had a link made of a pretty rippled metal. "This one needs to be a girl," Her father had said. His words had confused Rhaenys when she overhead them. Because her father already had the best daughter (Lyanna even told her so). But Rhaenys did not just overhear her father want for another daughter once, it was many times.

Rhaenys starts to get a dark, scary feeling in her gut when she hears her father talk about how much he wants another daughter.

"Lyanna?" Rhaenys ventures, a new thought crossing her mind as she sees the Queen distractedly eat her peach with one hand and rub her stomach with the other.

"Yes, Rhaenys?" Lyanna seems to still be half in her head, but turns to face Rhaenys anyways.

"Why did you eat my new brother?"

Lyanna's eyes widen at Rhaeny's somber question, before the older woman is laughing so hard, that bits of peach and spittle fly out of her mouth.

"Oh my," Lyanna says, holding her enlarged stomach and trying to catch her breath. "Oh, you are a  _delight_!"

Rhaenys huffs. Lyanna still didn't answer her question, which is a very legitimate question as far as Rhaenys is concerned.  _'Why eat a baby if you have to throw it up later?'_  But Lyanna is smiling now, so Rhaenys supposes she'll just ask again later.  _'Perhaps Ser Hairy knows the answer?'_  For now, Rhaenys continues to munch on her peach, reveling in its sweet taste and slippery juices, as she spends the afternoon sitting side by side with the only person she has left.

* * *

**The next time Rhaenys sees Lyanna, it is the last.**

* * *

"Sweet Rhaenys, come here," requests a fevered Lyanna from her sweat-drenched bed. Rhaenys approaches the ailing woman cautiously. Lyanna looks even sicklier than her mum did before she went away.

"Tell me sweetling, what did you do today?" Lyanna asks, her voice quiet and throaty.

And so Rhaenys tells her. She tells Lyanna how she spent her day first at lessons ("I'm learning the harp now!"), then trying to teach Balerion some tricks ("But he wouldn't do any because Ser Hairy was there, and Ser Hairy scares Balerion, but he wouldn't leave no matter how much I pushed him, so Balerion didn't do any tricks at all, and then Ser Hairy said I should get a dog! A  _dog,_ can you believe it?"), and then climbing peach trees to grab the plumpest and ripest ones.

"I brought you some!" Announces Rhaenys, smiling brightly. "And one for my new baby brother too!"

Lyanna's eyes go glassy, her mouth curved into a fragile smile. "I will miss you."

Rhaenys feels her stomach drop. Her chest feels empty when she asks, "you're leaving me too, aren't you?"

Lyanna nods weakly, eyes now truly watering. "I do not wish to."

The younger girl slowly nods back. Rhaenys is growing quite used to people leaving her.

Lyanna coughs so hard that her forehead cooler falls off, and Rhaenys reaches out quickly to carefully put the wet cloth back on Lyanna's forehead. It feels much too warm to be a cooling cloth.

"Will you look after him? Please. I know it will be a boy - and your father wants a girl." Lyanna's words grow faster, her eyes growing even more watery, and Rhaenys knows this is what the Maesters mean when they whisper  _'fever speech'._  "Please look out for him, Rhaenys."

_'_ _Lyanna is dying,'_ Rhaenys realizes.  _'The Stranger is coming to take her away, and when he does, I will have no one left.'_  She looks to Lyanna's covered stomach.  _'He will have no one too… No. No, we can still have each other. We_ will _have each other, even if we have no one else.'_  Rhaenys speaks through her own budding tears. "I will protect him. I will be his very own knight, guard him like the way Ser Hairy protects me."

Lyanna sighs with a sad smile. "Oh, sweetling, he will need your love more than your sword." Rhaenys is confused, of course she will love him. Aegon and Jon are boring, but still she loves them.

"Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me."

Rhaenys holds Lyanna's limp hand with both of her smaller ones. She looks first at the hump under the blanket, where her brother still is (even though the Maester said he was supposed to be out weeks ago). "I promise." Rhaenys vows. "I promise." She says again, stronger.

Lyanna seems soothed by this, and her eyes starts to close. Rhaenys grows even more worried then, afraid that if Lyanna closes her eyes, she will not open them again.

"What is his name?" Rhaenys demands, pulling sharply on Lyanna's hand, pulling her away from the Stranger's eager embrace. "You must tell me the name of my brother."

"Rick-on." Lyanna breathes out with half-lidded eyes. "Half my father, and half Brandon. Rickon will be his name."

Lyanna's eyes are glazed, but she is still awake, still fighting for consciousness.

_'_ _Fight!'_  Rhaenys screams in her mind.  _'Fight!'_

But even Rhaenys can tell this is a battle Lyanna will not win. And then Rhaenys starts to panic. She does not want to lose anyone else. She refuses to. She can help keep Lyanna from the Stranger, the way she couldn't save her mother. "But you will be okay." Rhaenys says, voice thick. "I  _command_  you to be okay. So we both can be his protectors! All three of us can go searching for Balerion, and you can watch us climb peach trees, and I can even teach him the harp if he wants!"

Lyanna looks at her with tears melting into her sweat-drenched face. "Oh my sweet girl, you were a gift. Sometimes you were the only light in this dark place. You will be that for him. I think you will be the light all these Kingdoms needs–"

The door to the chambers is slammed open, interrupting the Queen. Rhaenys nearly snarls at the intrusion. She turns to see Maester Pycelle swaggering in, all pomp and circumstance, telling Rhaenys she must leave. Rhaenys doesn't want to, but Lyanna gives her a soft nod. Rhaenys feels her throat tighten when she hugs Lyanna, and yelps when she is pulled away by the Maester sooner than she'd like. The stupid Maester directs her heavy feet towards the door. Desperate, Rhaenys looks over her shoulder just once more to see Lyanna attempt a smile.

_'_ _Goodbye.'_ Rhaenys wants to say, but then the door is shut.

Rhaenys stands in the hallway, facing the hardwood paneling of the door, until she senses another presence. She turns and finds Ser Hairy waiting for her on the opposite side of the hall. He offers her a handkerchief, but Rhaenys just throws her arms around his thick leg instead.

She doesn't know how long she stands there, her shoulders shaking and her grip tightening on the man's thigh. But eventually she hears her father talking with a Maester, the new Maester with the rippled chain. Her father's voice grows in volume with every word he hisses out, yet the Maester's tone remains calm and clear as the duo come closer to the Healing Chambers.

"…choose child or mother, your Grace. I cannot save both."

"You've yet to tell me whether it will be a girl or a boy!"

"We cannot be certain until they arrive. The babe is high set, which can mean a girl, but not always."

"Save my wife." Rhaegar says. There is an uneasy pause. "…Unless you suspect it to be a girl."

Rhaenys refuses to hear anymore.  _Cannot_  hear anymore. She does not think she will ever forgive her father for such callous words.

_'_ _You have me. You have Lyanna. But you would push us both to the Stranger for another precious daughter, wouldn't you? Why am I not enough?!'_

(The dark thing in her stomach grows, begins to claw up her throat, scratching it with violent claws and nearly bubbling out from her lips.)

"Take me to Balerion please." Rhaenys mumbles instead, speaking against her knight's thigh, then clinging to him even harder as she hears Lyanna start to scream.

(Lyanna's piercing wails will haunt Rhaenys for the rest of her life, she knows. She will never be able to remember the woman's laughter without the sound of her wails poisoning the memory.)

"Aye, we'll find the one-eared beast." Her Kingsguard says quietly, gently guiding Rhaenys away from a raging Rhaegar and a dying Lyanna.

* * *

**Lyanna had never meant for her family to break**

* * *

Lyanna had not wanted a crown

She had wanted Rhaegar.

She did not want Robert. She did not want to marry a man who loved the idea of having her, yet would dishonor her at every turn. A drunkard and a whoremonger, who already had a bastard. Lyanna could not believe the fate her family had sold her to.

Lyanna is well aware that  _"The Mummer Queen,"_  is just one of the… affectionate… monikers the people call her. They don't remember Robert as a drunkard and a whoremonger. They look upon him through a rosy lens, they sing of him as  _"Robert the Wronged"_ ; an innocent man who died for loving his betrothed. And her? They think of her as nothing more than a whore who had led her family and thousands of others their deaths by reneging on her duty, by letting the Kingdom think she had been taken against her will. How was she supposed to know that was what her family would think? That they would raise their armies? That Aerys would kill those she loved?

She didn't want Robert. But she had not wanted father or Brandon to die either.

_'_ _Perhaps you'll be like them,'_  she thinks, rubbing her stomach _. 'With father's steady presence and quick wit, or perhaps with Brandon's easy laugh and reckless wonder.'_  Tears come to her eyes unbidden, and she does not stop them from streaming down her face.

Perhaps this is her punishment.  _"The Duty-Dodger Queen"_ , according to the whispers of the Kingdoms. And the Old Gods do not forgive those who forgo their duty.  _'I left my brothers, and now I am being taken from my sons.'_

The Maester had already told both her and Rhaegar that she was not likely to survive, and Rhaegar had been inconsolable. Raging and grieving, looking at the child in her stomach as if he wanted nothing more than to tear it out of her, if only that would save her.

_'_ _I'm so sorry,'_  she thinks,  _'Jon, Rickon. I would not leave you if I had the choice. I promise, I would not leave you.'_ She feels so guilty when she remembers the other child she has come to love.  _'Rhaenys, sweet Rhaenys, who must watch on as yet another person who she trusts leaves her.'_

( _"Everyone leaves me. You are the only one left."_  Whispered a five-year-old Rhaenys, clinging to Lyanna's skirts the day after Elia's burial.)

This time before Lyanna leaves, she writes letters.

It had been Rhaenys who had inspired her to write them. Lyanna had the letters she wrote to her brothers sent North already, and had given the ones for each of the children to an emotional Rhaegar.

"Protect my children." She tells him, voice as firm as she can make it. She knows he will look out for Jon, their first child, the one born at a time when they had just won the right to be with each other. But she worries how Rhaegar will treat Rickon. She can see the thick resentment as Rhaegar only stares darkly at her stomach in response. "Please, my love. Do not blame him for this."

Rhaegar merely storms out of the room, saying something about talking with the Maesters.

Lyanna thanks every god that exists when Rhaenys comes to her rooms a short while after.

* * *

**Rhaegar looks at a newborn Rickon, and sees only a leech that sucked away his happiness.**

* * *

Rhaegar regrets ordering Shireen Baratheon's branding the moment the command leaves his lips. Lyanna would have never wanted such a vile act to commemorate her passing. And yet, Rhaegar does not rescind his directions, even as the child's cries grow louder and louder.

(In a dark part of his mind, he sees Rickon instead of Shireen meeting the blade.)

It is the memory of Lyanna – and Elia's words – that make him send for a Maester to at least attempt to minimize the disfigurement of the girl's face. There is a part of him that knows Tywin Lannister will not forgive this, but a larger part of him that doesn't care at all.

Lyanna is dead.  _Dead_ , because he chased a prophecy that was supposed to save the Realm. Because he chose his heart over his duty, and she did the same. But they didn't save the Realm, and they didn't live happily ever after. They started a war that ravaged the Seven Kingdoms, and left him with three children that remind him of all he lost.

And a newborn babe that killed the person he loved most in the world.

_'_ _Murderer. Nothing more than a pestilence that sucked the life out of the woman I loved more than anything. She did not deserve to die… It should have been you.'_

* * *

**Lewyn faced an impossible choice: duty or honor**

* * *

The years after Robert's Rebellion were dark and difficult. Rhaegar did the crown no favours with those ridiculous reparations he ordered. The taking of Jon Arryn's head, the branding of the Baratheons; it was all to assert the image of control, Lewyn supposed. And there is control now, years after, stability even. But, it is hardly built on an amicable foundation.

No, it is like trying to temper a fire with a wet wooden cage. At first the water keeps the flames at bay, until the fires chase the soak into the sky. And then all that remains is a hungry flame and a pending inferno.

Lewyn wonders as he wanders through Elia's Grove, watching Princess Elia try to teach young Prince Rickon how to climb.

Princess  _Rhaenys_ , he corrects his thoughts, shaking his head. Rhaenys even at eleven years old is the image of her mother, without Elia's unfortunate frailty. In truth it is almost a scene from his past. It is easy to picture Elia and Oberyn in lieu of Rhaenys and Rickon, by their interactions if not the similarity of their looks. Rhaenys and Rickon are, in truth, the least like their father. One could argue they had no Targaryen features at all, Rhaenys a pure Martell and Rickon a pure Stark in their colouring and features. Even young Jon had a hint of his father's eye colour and the Targaryen pale skin. And wasn't that the most interesting part, the unexpected way that Rhaegar's children paired off…

He hears a squeal of joy from the younger boy –  _'How old is he now, six?'_ – and looks towards the idyllic scene. He watches them from afar, reminiscing over the innocent times he had with his own family.

Things had been dark, yes, after the war. But they are slowly getting better with time.  _'Or at least superficially so.'_ Lewyn muses, as he sees some passing courtiers whisper and look at him, the very opposite of subtlety.

Lewyn still thinks of the war, of the Battle of the Trident, more than he supposes is healthy. He had a choice that day: his duty as a Kingsguard, or his honor as a warrior.

Rhaegar and Robert had been engaged in a one-on-one match, no archer nor other knight from either side dared to intervene. They could not. It was clear that this was a duel –  _the duel_ – that would end the Rebellion. Lewyn had not planned on intervening, not just because of some unspoken code amongst the fighters, but because he had faith that the Gods would see to Rhaegar's victory. In Lewyn's distraction, he himself had nearly been slain by the arrogant fool Lyn Corbray. At the time, Lewyn had just barely avoided the man's wild swing at his neck.

After Corbray was slain, swiftly, Lewyn looked back to see Rhaegar on his knees. And in that moment, Lewyn knew his choice. It had been a fair fight, yes, but Rhaegar was the Crowned Prince, while Robert Baratheon was nothing more than a rebel. And so, breaching the conduct that every man on that field had silently agreed to, Lewyn rapidly approached the duo and plunged his sword into Baratheon's back.

_"_ _Dishonorable."_  He knew that, to this day, the survivors from the battle, and those who had heard their stories, all hissed the same insults. They think him dishonorable for killing the victor of a fair fight. They don't say it to his face, just keep feeding whispers. He supposes there must be a few who are neutral to the entire affair. But there are even fewer who are vocal about their support of his decision, even amongst his sworn brothers. Well, except one.

Surprisingly it had been young Jaime Lannister who had reached out to Lewyn first. Before the young knight left sans-Cloak for the West to his Tully wife, the fledgling Lion had approached his senior with a dulled swagger.

_"_ _So many vows...they make you swear and swear. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other."_

The boy prodigy's words had felt like a dagger in Lewyn's gut, so accurate they had been. Jaime's words were non-judgmental, understanding even, as though he had faced a similar battle. His reassurance seemed to be set on repeat in Lewyn's mind to this very day, and often are accompanied by Lewyn reliving the boy's knighting.

_( "Jaime of House Lannister." Announces Ser Arthur as he touches the young blond's right shoulder with his sword, everyone at the tournament enthralled. "In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you protect all women." With each sentence, Ser Arthur's sword is placed on the other shoulder of the boy being knighted. "Look up towards me, and tell me true. Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your King? Do you swear to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"_

_"_ _Yes." Jaime answers solemnly, though anyone close enough – like Ser Lewyn is – can see the boy is vibrating in excitement._

_Arthur grins at the eager youth, who had proven so adept with a sword during their hunt for the Brotherhood. "Then rise, Ser Jaime, Great Lion of the West, youngest knight of the century!"_

_And Jaime Lannister – only 11 years old – is beaming as he rises to a thunderous applause. Even Lord Tywin seems a bit less stern to those who are familiar enough with the Hand's expressions. The corner of Tywin's mouth remains slightly upturned, until King Aerys halts the festivities by announcing that such a skilled prodigy should be brought into the folds of the Kingsguard._

_The applause from the nobles dies quickly._

_Lord Tywin leaves Kings Landing that very afternoon, leaving an heir and a Hand's pin behind._ )

It is a haunting thing for Lewyn when he remembers Jaime during the blond boy's first year donning a white cloak. He mirrored his golden armor: bright and eager to learn everything, laughing loudly in the training yards as he chased after his seniors to teach him more.

Jaime seemed happy enough in King's Landing until he began watching over Queen Rhaella in the evenings.

Jaime's laughter dimmed quickly after that. And when Aerys started burning bodies? Lewyn doesn't think Jaime ever even  _smiled_  after that. Fake ones, yes. But not the true ones of a boy who thought the world a place of good.

_'_ _King's Landing broke that boy… perhaps I helped it.'_

Lewyn frowns, another memory materializing unbidden before his eyes.

( _"We are sworn to protect her as well!" hisses a young Jaime, clearly distressed as three of the Kingsguard stand outside the royal chambers. It is the boy's first night guarding the Queen._

_"_ _We are… but not from him." says Ser Darry. The older man does not waiver in his post beside the closed door._

_Jaime looks to Lewyn then, despairing over the other knight's ambivalent response._

_Lewyn doesn't say anything to contradict Jon, and just leans his head back against the cold stone lining the walls of the halls. In truth, it was refreshing to feel the chill when one was trying to numb their other senses._

_"_ _Knights are sworn to protect women; we are sworn to protect the Queen!" Jaime cries._

_"_ _Your duty is to the King first, Jaime." Lewyn finally says._

_Jaime looks horrified, gaze flailing between both of the senior White Cloaks, before another high-pitched shriek from the Queen makes the young boy's golden complexion turn pale as a ghost._

_Lewyn merely watches on as Jaime spends the night with glassy eyes, glaring harshly at the floor, the boy's shoulder's shaking every time Aerys' manic laughter echoes through the hall.)_

Elia's –  _Rhaenys's_  – tinkling laugh thankfully pulls him out of his dark reverie.

The Princess is chasing Lyanna's son about the trees, the Prince shrieking in delight every time Rhaenys catches him. Lewyn smiles at the duo fondly. It is easy to favour Rhaenys and Rickon. They are happy children, who spend every second of every day chasing each other around the Keep and chatting with nobles and servants alike. They can be rambunctious at times, but they are good-hearted children.

Aegon and Jon are not.

Lewyn feels a dark ice chill up his spine, thinking on his great-nephew (his charge) and Lyanna's first son. Aegon treats Jon as a minion of sorts, and the second Prince follows Aegon around as faithfully as a shadow. Lewyn has never known winter, but he imagines its biting winds are as cold as Aegon's icy glares towards the youngest Prince.

_'_ _And what a blade in the back it must be for Rickon,'_ Lewyn thinks morosely.  _'To have Jon always choose Aegon, instead of protecting his younger brother against Aegon's loathing.'_

Rhaegar does nothing to reprimand Aegon and Jon's unrelenting bullying of Rickon. In fact, Rhaegar has not even assigned the youngest boy an official Kingsguard member. The remaining White Cloaks, of course, keep an eye on the roaming royal boy when they can, but always at a distance.

_'_ _Rhaenys is the only true shield Rickon has.'_

This in itself only seems to increase the tension between Rhaenys and Aegon, the former clearly trying to serve as an intermediary and the latter jealous over his only full-blooded sibling's overt preference for the youngest.

This embitters Lewyn, who cannot help but wonder sometimes if it had been worth his honor to save a King that dishonored Lewyn's own niece, branded others' children, and neglected his own. Rhaegar had been vengeful after the war, but Lyanna's death had left the man desolate. Rhaegar had been a good man, once. A man - a  _friend_  - who Lewyn thought would be the King this Realm needed to prosper. But that man was gone.

The best part of Rhaegar died with Lyanna Stark.

* * *

**Rickon is not born hating his brothers. He learns to.**

* * *

Rickon idolizes Rhae.

She is his most precious person, her and Balerion. He spends all of his days with them, only leaving Rhae's side when he absolutely has to (is forced to) part from her. He is still quite proud of the magnificent fit he had thrown when that dreadful bore Septa Eglantine started forcing Rickon to attend lessons with his brothers instead of letting him continue to sit in for Rhae's. He calmed only because his sister had been quick to promise that she would be with him after their lessons, and his wailing four-year-old self had been somewhat appeased.

Yet as they grow older, Rhae is being pulled away from him more and more. Supposedly for her  _"Lady Lessons"_  per wrinkly sour Eglantine, and for  _"entertaining"_ visiting noblewomen and noblewomen.

Rickon  _hated_  sharing Rhae. Rhae is his closest friend, and his only family member who actually spends time with him.

Aegon is… scary. His older half-brother glares at Rickon whenever they near each other, and shoves him to the ground when no one can see them. Jon ignores Rickon whenever he tries to seek the dark-haired boy out, which hurts even more, because Rickon knows that he and Jon are full brothers. And shouldn't that mean something?

_'_ _No, blood doesn't matter.'_  Thinks Rickon fiercely, shaking his head firmly.  _'Rhae is only half my sister by blood, but she is my truest family of them all.'_

Rhae is gone today,  _again_. Not just for a few hours, but for  _four whole days_. She was forced away by that ugly raisin Eglantine, in order to visit Baelor's Sept for some sort of special  _"Faith Training"_ , or some such foolishness.

_'_ _I am alone.'_ Thinks Rickon gloomily, as his eyes slowly trace one of the stone-laid hallways of the Keep.

Then, a black bundle of fur shoves at his leg, clearly affronted at Rickon's thoughts.

_'_ _Not quite alone.'_ Rickon corrects himself, as his lips curve into a smile and he leans down to pat Balerion on the head. Rhae left the dark feline with Rickon, as she often does when Eglantine forces her to leave the Keep. The young Prince is about to ask his fuzzy companion to accompany him on another secret escapade to Flea Bottom (the only thing in the entire Realm he keeps from Rhae, because she worries too much), when he hears his eldest brother's voice nearby.

Rickon's fingers pull too tightly on Balerion's scraggly hair, and the cat screeches in response. When Rickon turns to pinpoint the familiar voice at the end of the hall, he sees the dark hair of Jon first, who is trailing beside Aegon. Aegon is smirking, strutting down the length of the corridor, and whipping about a dagger. A dagger with  _bells._

Aegon sees Rickon, and smirks. "Are you jealous, bastard? I've got a new blade. My Uncle, Prince Oberyn, had it made especially for me."

Rickon hated it when Aegon called him that ugly name. At first he didn't know what it meant, just that Aegon only used it when no one else was listening, so it must have been a bad thing. When he asked Rhae one day what the word meant, he was even more confused. He didn't understand why he was a bastard, but Aegon thought Jon wasn't.

Rickon tries, really truly tries, to hold his tongue. Rhae always tells him to do that when he gets angry. He even tries counting to ten in his head, like she always says to do. But Aegon just keeps talking. "Bet you're jealous of a lot of things. Like how father loves me, and wishes you had stayed a stain on a brothel's sheet."

Rickon bristles, not entirely sure what Aegon means, but knowing it's something insulting by his tone. "Why would I be jealous? It's  _dumb_  to have bells on a dagger!" Rickon shouts. "Your enemies would hear you from leagues away!"

Jon sighs, shaking his head. "Gods, you're so stupid, Rickon." A cross between exasperation and annoyance (and perhaps a hint of trepidation), flashes in Jon's greyish purple eyes.

Aegon's smirk turns into a scowl. "Stupid is right." Aegon snorts. "The dagger has bells because it's for  _training_. It teaches a knight how to be stealthy, by walking in a way where the bells don't ring."

"You have too loud a mouth to be stealthy." Rickon mumbles back, looking down but not fast enough to not see Jon roll his eyes.

There is a pause and then a long silence before Rickon hazards looking back up to his eldest brother.

Aegon's scowl… has turned back into an odd smile. He speaks, low and languid.

"Rhaenys is gone for the next few days, isn't she?"

Rickon gets a peculiar sensation, a feeling that bugs crawl on his skin, their little feet digging into his flesh.

Aegon breaks the second silence when he firmly clasps a hand onto Rickon's shoulder. At the heavy touch, Rickon's gut jolts and Balerion hisses in displeasure. Rickon's feet are kept in place only by the weight of Aegon's grasp. "You must be lonely," Aegon says, voice softer than before. "You could join Jon and I for the day; we were just on our way to the training yards."

Rickon's heart races in excitement.

"Really?" He exclaims, grinning widely. "I can play with you?"

Aegon's smile broadens, and the bugs move faster, scratching at Rickon's skin. "Of course. I have so much I can teach you."

Rickon turns to face Jon, wondering if Jon will let him come too. But Jon doesn't face Rickon, and instead focuses on Balerion, frowning at the cat's bitten ear. Then he quietly mumbles, "truly a wonder such a deaf thing still breathes."

Rickon doesn't understand, but Jon often says strange things, and speaks as though he is an old man instead of just two years older, so Rickon decides to take Jon's lack of refusal as acceptance.

"Will you teach me how to fight?" Rickon asks enthusiastically as he walks next to Aegon, eager to be near his eldest brother now that the flaxen-haired boy is no longer glaring at him.

Aegon nods, as his grip on Rickon's shoulder turns the younger boy in the direction opposite from the way towards Rickon's secret tunnel to Flea Bottom. Balerion tries to come along as well, but Jon pushes the cat in the other direction. Rickon wants to oppose this, but is too scared of messing up the first chance he can remember of being able to play with his brothers.

_'_ _I'm sorry Balerion. I'll find you later, I promise.'_

The trio approach the training yard, and Aegon speaks once more. "You aren't allowed here yet, are you?"

Rickon looks immediately to the ground, disappointed and afraid Aegon will send him away. Instead, Aegon says, "we can find somewhere a little further away from the other Knights, I'm sure."

Aegon turns to the two Kingsguard following a respectable distance behind the trio.  _'Weird,'_ thinks Rickon, as Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arys Oakheart are ordered by Aegon to take a break.  _'It's usually Ser Lewyn and Ser Selmy who follow Aegon and Jon around.'_ The armored duo seems hesitant, and both knights eye Rickon with a look the younger boy can't really interpret. Aegon's voice hardens and he points to the busy training yard, saying something about having sufficient guards. When the two knights begrudgingly let themselves be sent away, Aegon faces Rickon once more. He whispers conspiratorially. "Since you aren't allowed in the main training yard yet, we can find somewhere a little further away from the other knights. A place to teach you something useful." He ponders for a moment before nodding. "I know just where we can go."

Aegon leads Rickon and Jon to a secluded area behind some trees. Amidst the foliage, there are multiple sets of arrows and targets, and no other occupants.

"Let us start with the basics, hmm?" Says Aegon.

Rickon nods zealously. He has never been allowed near the bows and arrows before, and had only ever used the wooden play swords. Rickon looks on in awe as Aegon fluently picks up a bow, draws back an arrow, and launches it. The arrow hits the third ring of one of the further targets and Rickon claps, amazed.

_'_ _It is so far away, but Aegon hit it!'_

Aegon smirks, before stepping closer to Rickon and displaying the bow, teaching him the different parts, using fancy words like armguard, bowstring, button, bowyer, crown, crest, quiver, quarrel, riser, and shaft. Rickon soaks up every word that Aegon speaks, memorizing them as best as he can.

_'_ _This is what it is like.'_  Thinks Rickon, grinning as he looks upon his eldest brother, who is righting the way Rickon holds his bow.  _'For Aegon to like me. He can be kind too, just like Rhae.'_

Off to the side, Jon shoots his own arrows, but isn't as good as Aegon. Which is surprising, because Rickon remembers seeing Jon shoot once while he was walking with Rhae, and from what he recalls Jon had actually been quite good. But, there is no time to follow that thought, as Aegon nudges Rickon's elbow and drawls, "stop aiming and shoot already."

Rickon's first shot is nowhere near the target, and his cheeks puff up in embarrassment. He expects some sort of jeering from Aegon, but instead hears:

"Rickon, could you grab the used arrows? We're running low."

"Okay!" yelps Rickon, desperate to keep Aegon's newfound favour despite his own abysmal skills.

Rickon runs over to the fallen arrows as quickly as he can, bending over to pick them up. When he finishes with the ones on the ground, he uses his left hand to try to pull the ones wedged into the closest target.

It goes well, and the last lodged arrow is almost removed, before Rickon feels a searing pain in his upper arm.

_'_ _An arrow,'_  Rickon registers before the overwhelming pain causes him to wail. Rickon looks forward to see a bloody arrow embedded in the target, next to the one he almost removed. The new arrow had cut Rickon's arm, but could have easily embedded itself in his head or back instead.

Aegon and Jon come running over.

Rickon looks up to see them, and is horrified by Aegon's smirk. "First lesson, Rickon. When fighting a stronger opponent… know how to  _dodge_."

And then Aegon laughs.

He hears the heavy footfall and clanking metal of incoming knights, and then Jon's voice.

"Would you stop your screeching?" demands Jon. "It was just an accident Rickon. Don't make such a scene."

Rickon isn't sure why he expects Jon to help him, Jon never does. And yet, some part of his chest goes cold when he hears Jon relay a modified story to the approaching knights.

_("Accident… Silly boy… Ran into Aegon's arrow… Accident… You know how incorrigible he is. How he doesn't listen to instruction… Accident… And really, if Rickon just learned to do as he's told, he wouldn't have gotten himself hurt…")_

.x.X.x.

"Lucky for you, young Prince, that the arrow missed your tendons and the bulk of your muscle. It could have been much worse. Why, you could have been deformed and crippled for life!" Grand Maester Pycelle tuts, "what a terrible accident!"

After hearing Jon's account, the knights had taken a sobbing Rickon to the Maester's quarters, and delivered Rickon to Pycelle. Jon had been left to watch over him as the Grand Maester wrapped the young Prince's wound.

Rickon screams back at the man. "It wasn't an accident! Aegon hit me on purpose because I made fun of his stupid dagger!"

Jon, who is standing by the door, gives a large and exaggerated sigh. "Stop lying, Rickon. I saw what happened, and it was an accident, your fault if anything. You shouldn't have stepped in front of the tree; you shouldn't have made yourself a target."

Rickon looks at Jon, numb now, after realizing exactly how little his full brother cares for him. And Rickon is  _desperate_  for someone to care. Because Aegon could have hit his  _head_  instead, killing him. Aegon could have hit is  _back,_ crippling him for life. It is that same desperation that powers his steps towards the King's solar. As Rickon approaches the heavy doors, he notes that it is Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Lewyn Martell who are guarding the entrance.

Ser Lewyn sees the fresh bandages around Rickon's arm, and his dark eyes widen. "Price Rickon, what happened?!"

Rickon scowls, hissing out his response. "Aegon."

Ser Lewyn and Ser Arthur share a look Rickon can't decipher. Rickon's scowl deepens. "But I bet you both don't believe me. No one ever does."  _'No one but Rhae, and she is gone for three more days.'_

"Just let me in to see my father, please. I need to tell him what happened."

Lewyn's eyes widen further. The Dornish Kingsguard begins his response cautiously. "Prince Rickon, that might not be the wisest choice—"

_'_ _That's it!'_  Rickon seethes, fed up. "I don't care! He never talks to me or looks at me, but even he should care if Aegon could have  _killed_ me!  _I'm his son too_!"

Ser Arthur sighs, looking at Rickon with something too close to pity. Rickon glowers at the two Kingsguard before turning his glare downwards, once more meeting the intricate stone floors. "Just let me in.  _Please._ "

.x.X.x.

Ser Arthur knocks on the large doors and announces in a steady, deep voice, "Prince Rickon, your Grace."

There is silence on the other side.

Ser Arthur knocks again. "Your Grace, your son—"

Rhaegar's voice reeks of annoyance as it seeps through the door. "Let him in, then."

Rickon loses whatever courage he had the moment he hears his father's callous voice. He stays standing in the hall, scared to move, before Ser Lewyn puts a warm hand on his shoulder and gently guides him through the door that Ser Arthur opens.

Rickon hears the heavy door slam, Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn remaining on the other side, and all he feels is regret.  _'I should not have done his. I wish I had not done this.'_

His father sits, an imposing figure, writing and signing documents behind his desk. His hand seems just a bit unsteady, and then Rickon remembers his father lost not just his sword arm but also his writing hand in the Rebellion.  _'It must have been hard, learning to write again.'_  Rickon continues to sink into his thoughts, as the King has yet to look up from his papers. Rickon just continues to wait, only a step away from the closed door. The time ticks by, and still his father refuses to acknowledge him.

_'_ _Father ignores me, Jon avoids me, and Aegon gets to_ hurt _me. It isn't fair._ ' Rickon is just about to open his mouth when his father  _finally_ deigns to speak.

" _What_." The King demands, though his eyes don't leave the parchment he is writing on.

Rickon – upon hearing the frosty voice – is scared silent, again.

"Speak." The King orders coldly. "Or leave my sight."

_'_ _Be brave'_  whispers a kind voice that sounds like Rhae. And Rickon listens to her. He tells his father exactly what happened in the area by the training yard, and with the dagger before that. He is shaky with the explanation, but a recount of the entire affair eventually makes its way out despite Rickon's stammering.

His father still doesn't look up from signing his papers. Does not react to Rickon's retelling, even when he mentions the arrow that Aegon cast into his arm.

_'_ _You must care about this.'_  Thinks Rickon, desperately.  _'You must care that Aegon hurt me; you must at least care that Aegon could have killed me.'_

His father's eyes are hard when they finally look up at Rickon.

"You would waste a King's time with this nonsense?  _Get out._ "

.x.X.x.

When Rhae returns to see Rickon's wounded arm, she screams at Aegon and Jon - berating them for their horrible actions. She chastises them both so loudly that at least half the castle hears, and so harshly that neither of the duo can face her for over a week.

And then she introduces Rickon to Sam.

"This is Lord Samwell Tarly." Announces Rhae, as the three of them meet in the Maester's library. "He is Grand Maester Pycelle's student. Essentially a Maester-in-training from the Citadel, doing part of his education here for the next few years. You will be having your lessons with him from now on, not with Maester Tarot and the other Princes."

_'Lord Samwell Tarly is a very chubby thing,'_  thinks Rickon as he appraises the rotund Lord from the Reach.  _'Shy and unsure of himself, but his smile seems kind.'_  Regardless, Rickon would do near anything to escape from being trapped in a room with his brothers and the creepy Maester with the rippling chain. So, Rickon doesn't bother indulging any doubts, and happily chirps, "Hello, Lord Tarly." Then he bows properly, the way Rhae taught him to do it, with a straight back and straightened legs.

Lord Samwell seems embarrassed by the formal address. He bumbles out, "S-Sam will do just fine, Your Grace."

Rickon feels a smile grow between his cheeks. He thinks he will like Sam much more than he would Lord Samwell. "Then Rickon will do just fine as well, Sam."

.x.X.x.

Next, Rhae pulls a shy Rickon before Ser Arthur Dayne.

"You shall teach Rickon all he needs to know about how to be a knight. You will train him every day."

Ser Arthur seems discomfited as he stares at them both with a sad gaze. "Princess, your intentions are good. But Prince Rickon is not yet even seven years old."

"The master-at-arms started Jon and Aegon even earlier than his age." In that moment, Rhae's entire countenance morphs. "Ser Arthur, you  _will_  train Rickon. I expect to be kept informed of his progress, weekly."

Rickon stares at this new side of Rhae in awe. There is no gentleness to her commands, just power.

Rhaenys sounds like a  _King_.

"I am the Princess, and in the absence of the Queens, I am the Lady of this Keep. Ser Arthur, you will obey my instructions as such."

And so, because of Rhae, Rickon finds himself living out every boy's dream: being trained by the legendary Sword of the Morning.

* * *

**How can a father not love their son?**

* * *

Sam knows things could have gone very differently. That if his father had his way, Sam would be at the Wall, freezing amongst rapists and thieves. It had been an offhand comment by Dickon that had spurred Sam to head to the Citadel instead of the North. (' _Oh! That makes much more sense. Thank you, Sam. I don't get why_ you _don't just teach me numbers instead, you're much better than our Maester at it!'_ )

And like the Wall, once the Citadel had Sam, there was no way for Lord Randyl Tarly to grab a hold of him. Despite the man thinking learning a "womanly" interest. The Citadel was considered an independent city-state, despite straddling the border between the Riverlands and the Reach. It often gathered visitors to the public domains of its library, the largest library in all of Westeros.

Sam's thoughts are interrupted by a slamming door.

Not jolted – far too used to this occurrence to be startled anymore – Sam calmly turns to see a fuming Prince.

Prince Rickon Targaryen, at 9-years-old, has become something of a friend to Sam over the past two and a half years. And part of it, Sam suspects, is because Rickon has so few people in the Red Keep to rant to about the actions of the other males in the royal family.

Rickon paces along the Maester's Library, hands alternating between fisting at his sides and pulling at his dark brown curls. Sam just watches on as Rickon silently seethes, letting the younger boy gather his thoughts. By his attire and slightly dulled blade, Sam has no doubt the Prince had initially tried to let his anger out at the training yard ( _'Or perhaps against a tree, his sword is quite blunted compared to yesterday.'_ )

Finally, Rickon huffs out a sigh before planting himself on one of the benches. He leans back, face towards the ceiling and eyes closed, as he speaks. "I shouldn't be surprised. When the King bothers to favour anyone, the King favours Aegon. And if not Aegon, then Jon."

Sam wants to ask what happened, his curiosity as much as vice as it is a virtue, but Sam holds his tongue. Rickon is clearly still sorting through his emotions in his head, and Sam has learned to let him do so.

The Prince's next words are so quiet that Sam has to strain to hear them. "He hates me. He never even calls me his son; did you know that? How can a father not..." Rickon's words drift off, but Sam hears what Rickon doesn't say. How can Sam not understand the unspoken thought, when he himself has had the question for years.

_'_ _How can a father not love their son?'_

Sam knows then, what Rickon needs to hear.

"I had a father who preferred my brother over me as well." Sam begins. The next words are hard to say, Sam has never said what happened aloud before, but he pushes the story out anyways. "I suppose this is a secret, since I have never told anyone and would really like for no one else to know." Sam sees that Rickon's eyes flare in a bright curiosity of his own. "I never intended to leave Horn Hill. But my father is Lord Randyll Tarly, a man who values martial valor and strength in combat over anything else. So three years ago when I turned 15, and still had none of either of those things, he took me aside. Brought me to the nearest forest, just him and I, and ordered me to take the black and join the Night's Watch. He wanted my younger brother, Dickon, to inherit our lands and his title." Sam sees Rickon frown, and the Prince looks as if he wants to interject and say something, but Sam makes a settling motion with his hands. _'That's not all,'_  thinks Sam, as he relives the worst moment of his life. "Then he told me if I wasn't gone within a moon's turn, he would take me on a hunt in the woods." Sam pauses to swallow, his throat dry and his eyes becoming glassy. "And then he would… and then he would kill me. In a way that appeared as an accident, to 'spare our House the stain of my existence.'"

Rickon scowls, stands off the chair in a fury with his hand on the hilt of his sword, appearing for all the world like he will march to the Reach to take the Lord of Horn Hill's head. He begins pacing again, more agitated now than even before, and Sam wonders if he has erred in telling the story of what happened in the woods.

Rickon's pacing comes to a halt, and then the Prince looks at Sam with some unidentifiable emotion. He looks Sam right in the eye when he says, with the solemnity of a Septon and the barring of a royal.

"You deserve better than your father."

_'_ _So do you.'_  Sam cannot say, but suspects Rickon hears him anyways by the upward quirk of the boy's lip.

"You're worth a thousand Randyll Tarlys, Sam. You're smarter than anyone I've ever known, and one day, everyone will see how brilliant you are." Rickon's sincerity is jarring, and it leaves Sam bumbling (and feeling warm in a place where Randyll Tarly's words had left him cold). In a way, Sam had never left that forest. But here Rickon was, a fellow abandoned son, offering to find their way out together.

Rickon takes a step closer to Sam, and pats his shoulder in a reassuring way. "You should probably start teaching me something, before we start hugging and crying and I ruin your pretty Maester-in-training garb with whatever I've stuck on me from the yard." Rickon jests with a teasing smirk, and Sam can't stop the wet laugh that gurgles up his throat.

"Splendid idea." Sam agrees, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. Smiling came so easily with Rickon, who seemed to always know just when to lighten the mood, despite his young age. "How about we continue where we left off? We just finished the First Blackfyre Rebellion. How about we discuss the Second one next?

The Prince listens to the story with rapt attention. During the part where the more skilled Daemon contests Daeron's claim, Rickon's eyes take on a strange glint (but it is something Sam will not recognize for the hazard it becomes until many years later.)

Sam just finishes telling Rickon about "the Hammer and the Anvil", a crowd favorite from the bards which immortalizes the Battle of the Redgrass Field, when a soft knock on the door is heard.

Sam looks towards the door as it is slowly pushed open, and smiles. "Princess Rhaenys."

The Princess gracefully walks into the small space, with a warm expression. "Lord Sam." She nods towards him, before turning towards a seated Rickon. She gives his soiled clothing an unimpressed raised brow. "Prince Bath-Averter."

The Prince sticks his tongue out in response to the new moniker.

Rhaenys lets out a tinkling laugh before stepping forward to rustle the boy's hair. He fakes a struggle, but clearly basks in his older sister's attention.

"How are lessons going?" She enquires politely.

"Well, Princess. I hope your lessons at the Sept went well, as well." Sam internally bemoans his inability to speak properly around the Princess. Only fourteen years old, and already her beauty is sung about by bards, sought after by Lords, and capable of turning him into a stuttering ball of nerves during their interactions, despite their acquaintance.

Rhaenys smiles indulgently and Sam feels his stomach twist. "Again, I thank you for taking the time to teach my baby brother, I know he can be a handful."

Rickon snorts at that, before getting off of his chair to strongly embrace his sister.

"I missed you." He says quietly as they loosen their hug.

"And I missed you." She responds warmly. She playfully frowns then, bringing her hand onto his head, which is almost of height with hers. "Soon you might just be taller than me, and you're not yet 10 years old."

Rickon grins, standing up straighter.

Rhae's smile turns teasing. "Don't get too proud about it, lest your head swell and grow even more inflated than Aegon's. I just came from a meal with our dear brothers and father. Never has there been a duller affair. I kept looking out the window, wishing I were a dragon that could fly away."

"Fly, huh?" Rickon smirks.

Then the Prince bends his knees, and quickly pulls the Princess over his shoulder.  _'He's strong,'_  thinks Sam in slight awe, as he watches Rickon spin the Princess around and around. The Princess laughs readily in between her half-hearted protests.

And then she coughs. A haggard, wet cough.

Rickon immediately sets her down, and brings his hands upon her shoulders. There is clear distress furrowing his brows.

Having previously taken a step back to avoid the spinning siblings, Sam now approaches the duo quickly. He looks the Princess over for other overt signs of sickness, concerned by the foreboding sound of such an ominous cough. "Princess, are you well?"

She nods, her cheeks flushed, ostensibly from the spinning. "Very much so, Lord Sam."

Rickon frowns, his hands still firmly on her shoulders. "That cough didn't sound well."

The Princess smiles while patting Rickon's cheek. "Thank you both for your concern." She then pokes Rickon's nose, which is scrunched into an anxious frown as he continues to worriedly examine his sister. "But, I am perfectly fine."

* * *

**Rickon cannot lose Rhaenys**

**(especially not like this, dying in a bed like his birthmother had)**

* * *

Rhae is everything to Rickon. A sister. A best friend. A teacher. A  _mother._

So seeing her in lying prone in a bed – the same bed she has been in for a week – in a pale and sickly state is gut-wrenching. Rickon spends every night by her bed, changing her fever head cloths for cooler ones. Balerion is the only one who keeps an equally steadfast vigil.

"If she doesn't improve soon, she may never improve at all." Says Maester Pycelle. Rickon nearly claws off the old man's face off when he says it, but is stopped by Sam. Sam who he trusts, and Sam who  _agrees_.

_'_ _Rhaenys is dying… The Stranger will come to take her away, and then I will have no one.'_  Rickon looks to her damp skin.  _'I will have no one … I don't know how to be without her. We have always had each other, even when we had no one else.'_  Rickon speaks through his own budding tears. "Don't leave." He begs. "Please don't leave me."

The eight day, her fever peaks, and Maester Pycelle says she will be dead by nightfall. "Fight!" Rickon orders her, crying as he shakes her. "Fight!" But her fever stays, cooling cloths do nothing, and Rickon fears every minute will be her last.

Rickon isn't much for praying (he prayed for years for his father and brothers to love him, and look how that turned out). But that night, he prays to every god he has ever heard of: every one of the Seven, the Old Gods, the Drowned God, the Lord of Light, the Many-Faced God, the Great Stallion, Mother Rhoyne, the Great Shepherd, the Lady of Spears, the Black Goat, even the Weeping Lady.  _'If anyone is listening,'_ pleads Rickon,  _'save her. Please, please, please save her. If you save her, I swear on my life I will do whatever you ask of me.'_

Her fever abates somewhat on the ninth day, but she remains unconscious. "Still knocking on the Stranger's door." According to Maester Tarot.

It is the tenth day into this hell, that Balerion's hackles rise. Rickon looks away from his sister only when he hears something strange echo along the halls outside the room.

Rickon hears the faint jingling of bells.

.x.X.x.

It is terror of being alone with his lifelong tormentor that sends Rickon to shoo Balerion away, and toss himself under the frame of Rhae's bed. He commands himself not to make a sound. There is no intent to spy, just escape.

And yet, what Rickon overhears that day, while fearfully hiding underneath a Healing Chambers bed, changes  _everything_.

* * *

**They cannot crown a corpse**

* * *

When she awakes, Rhaenys is unsurprised and relieved to find Rickon by her side.

The others come and go into the room, expressing how glad they are that she is better and expected to make a full recovery. They enter the room, say their words, then depart.

_'Years later, and people still always leave.'_

Rickon doesn't leave, serves as an intractable sentinel by her bedside. His hand tightens on hers when Aegon and Jon make an appearance, and she fears in that moment what they could have done to her youngest brother while she was not there to deter their nastier impulses.

Rickon does not seem to calm even when their brothers leave. Instead his breathing increases, his grip on her hand tightens further, and Rhaenys sees an ugly hatred in Rickon's eyes as he stares upon their retreating backs.  _'What did they do to you?'_  A terrible apprehension claws in her gut. Rickon had until now been afraid of Aegon, and mostly numb towards Jon. But now his eyes… Rickon's northern grey eyes are  _searing_  in their fury.  _'It is nothing so tame as hatred now.'_ Thinks Rhaenys, with a growing wariness.  _'This is something much, much worse.'_

Rickon turns towards her fully. His eyes remain hard. When he explains himself, Rhaenys's heart breaks.

"It was Aegon." He says, looking her straight in the eye, unblinking. "He poisoned you."

Rhaenys wants to say Rickon is wrong, but something knocks at the back of her mind and says that Aegon has already proven himself capable of hurting those of his blood, while Rickon is incapable of lying to her so convincingly.

He tells her a tale, of a boy who crawled under a bed to getaway from a monster. And then how the monster came into the room, unknowing of the audience, and said outlandish things to a dying Princess.

"He said he was having the same nightmare, again and again. Where the King gave you a crown. And then you place it on me. And then he said you were too much like your mother, that you had the face of a well-loved martyr. He said you are too treasured by the nobles to ever be opposed by those who wanted a King instead of a Queen if your father crowned you. He said he would mourn the loss of his truest sibling, but he had no choice. Then he said… then he said, 'Well I suppose it will no longer be an issue. They cannot crown a corpse.' And then he  _laughed._ "

Rhaenys, for more than a moment, cannot breathe. But then she feels the bracing sensation of anger burning through her veins. She tries to sit up in the bed, but is quickly halted by Rickon stopping her ascent.

Rhaenys scowls. "We must tell someone what you heard."

"NO!" Rickon yells, glowering as he lowers his voice. "No, they  _never_ believe me. No one ever believes me about him. Except for you." There is a pause where Rickon's mouth keeps making as if it wants to move to fill the quiet. He clearly has more to say, but seems hesitant to phrase his thoughts. Rhaenys waits.

Rickon's eyes blink, and then they begin to shine. "You must leave."

Rhaenys starts at the suggestion, then shakes her head emphatically. "No." She says sternly. "I will not leave you here alone."

Rickon's voice gets thick. "If you stay with me then I will lose you, and that will hurt me worse than he ever could.  _Please,_ Rhae. You must leave."

Rhaenys frowns. "If I am wanted dead, it will not be enough for me just to leave the Red Keep."

Rickon seems to hate himself with his next suggestion. He sighs, tiredly. "If you are no longer a Targaryen, he will leave you be."

Rhaenys hates the way her logic knows he is right. So she considers his request. Her hand must be given to an heir of one of the Kingdoms, so her options are limited. The first land she thinks of is the Reach. Willas Tyrell is of age with her, and High Garden would still be close enough to have Rickon visit her. But she discards that option quickly. The Tyrells want their daughter as Aegon's wife, which will not happen if they already have a royal wedded into their family.

The Stormlands and Westerlands are impossible, even if they were to be considered. Stannis Baratheon has but a single daughter, while Jaime Lannister's wife had only produced stillborn after stillborn. Even if either Lord had a male heir, Rhaenys is well aware of exactly how she would be treated in those lands, after the Baratheons' Branding, as well as her grandfather and father's repeated insults to Tywin Lannister.

The Iron Islands would serve well to get her far away from King's Landing. But Lord Rodrick Greyjoy had only had one young son so far, one who was years younger than even Rickon. His youngest brother – the only one of the Greyjoy men not wed or betrothed – is of age with her, but no one in King's Landing will stand for her being wed to a fifth son.

The Eyrie would be the only place worse than Storm's End and Casterly Rock. Her father had  _destroyed_  the Great House of Arryn. Currently it was ruled by young Roloph Arryn, born a Gulltown Arryn, who was the nearest male heir best related to the old Great House. Again, even if she suspected the Vale would take her (which it wouldn't, it would spit on any betrothal offer and shove the messenger through their Moon Door), she is quite certain from Septa Eglantine's lessons that Roloph is already betrothed to a Yronwood girl.

Then there is Dorne, which is not an option at all. The heirs are her first cousins, and in truth, her father would gain nothing from marrying her there. The Martells were already loyal to Elia's children.

That leaves… the North.

Tricky. Robb Stark is about three years younger than her – a year older than Jon. How would they receive her? She supposes it would depend on if they hated Queen Lyanna or the Targaryens more. And then another consideration: would Dorne be insulted to have Queen Elia's daughter sent to Queen Lyanna's homeland?

Rhaenys turns her gaze to Rickon.  _'Rickon can easily become a ward of the North. So, no matter how they might receive me, I will make the most of it. This is the only way I see where I can save Rickon too.'_

(" _Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.")_

_'_ _I'll not leave you here.'_ Rhaenys thinks fiercely.  _'I know what it is like to be left… And I will_ not _leave you to the mercy of our increasingly volatile brothers.'_

She has been pushing away what Rickon said, compartmentalizing it behind a door in her mind she will broach another day. Trying her best to ignore it in the interim because it hurts to much to even consider. True, Aegon had been cruel to Rickon multiple times, but an optimistic part of her had always hoped he would grow out of it, even after the arrow incident. After all, he grew out of refusing to spend time with Jon when they were younger. And Aegon had only ever been kind (polite) to her, even when she admittedly grew colder to him after the arrow incident. They never really played together, him being the heir and having very important lessons. But she had never thought that he fostered such deep seated resentment for her. And where there was Aegon, there was Jon.

_'_ _We may not be close, but I love them too.'_  She thinks, her chest hurting with every beat.  _'How could they?'_

.x.X.x.

A week later and she finally regains her strength. Or at least enough of it for her and Rickon to approach the King. They arrive in their father's solar, heralded by a wary Ser Oswell. When she enters on Rickon's arm, she takes a good look at the man sitting behind the large oak desk. The man who sired her has silvery-white eyes, a gaunt face, and dead eyes. For a moment, she sees her grandfather instead.

(' _Perhaps trial by fire'_  he jeered through disgusting smile on a wrinkled face.)

Then she registers the lack of an arm, and is pulled back from her memories.

_'_ _I see none of Rickon nor I in you, Father.'_

Beside her, Rickon is still as stone. Rhaenys is aware of how much Rickon fears and hates their father in equal measure, so proposes the betrothal and wardship on her own. Rhaegar's violet eyes stay on her; he does deign to even acknowledge Rickon is in the room and that makes Rhaenys's blood boil.

( _'…_ _prove the Dornish girl to be a true Targaryen.'_ )

Finally, the King speaks.

"I will send you North." He looks to Rhaenys. "You will be Lady of Winterfell." Then he frowns, glancing towards Rickon. "The boy stays here."

Rickon stiffens, but does nothing other than glare at the floor. Rhaenys does not take her father's decree so easily.

"Then I will not leave either." She says, chin up as she defies the King.

Rhaegar sneers. "It doesn't matter what you want. You may be a Princess, but I am the King, and your Father besides. You obey me." He scowls. "Do not question me again, daughter. Learn your place."

In that moment Rhaenys knows fear. As much as she never wanted to leave Rickon alone, Rickon was also a layer of protection for her in the North. He had Stark blood if not the North's love of those holding the Stark name.  _'What will they do to me, without him beside me?'_  She remembers the words of her Septa then, _'savages, brutes, heathens, cannibals.'_

"Send her to Dorne first." Rickon speaks up.

Rhaegar still refuses to look at Rickon, and does not acknowledge her brother nor his suggestion. Rickon continues, speaking up for her despite the dread she knows he must feel in addressing their father. "Dorne is already angry at you for so much, do you think that they will react warmly to you sending Queen Elia's image to wed into Queen Lyanna's family? Send her to Dorne for a few years at least to appease them."

Rhaegar scowls, an ugly thing that warps his face into something terrible.

"You  _dare_  speak? Get  _out_. Both of you. Leave my sight, before even the memory of your mothers cannot save you from the punishment given to those that defy their King."

.x.X.x.

In hindsight, trying to sneak away with Rickon to Dorne under the cover of night had been a  _stupid_ idea. They were caught before they even left the castle, only the Kingsguard followed them long enough to ascertain a destination and to see if they had any co-conspirators. Which, of course, they didn't. Rhaenys's only plan had been trading in the jewellery she grabbed for their passage. It was hardly a well-thought out escape. It had been one of desperation.

"Please, Ser Lewyn." Rhaenys implores. "Do not bring us back to him. Let us leave. If you ever held any affection for my mother, you will let us leave this horrid place."

For a moment it seems as though Ser Lewyn hesitates, but only a moment.

.x.X.x.

This time when they are brought before their father, it is not in his solar but in the empty throne room. He sits ramrod straight on the Iron Throne, glaring at his wayward spawn from his place above them.

_'_ _A throne forged from a thousand swords of the vanquished, per legend. But truly only 283. I know, I counted.'_

The King rises from the Iron Throne, and his glare does not abate. His voice is sharp when he speaks, glowering straight at her. "Are you so ambitious for your brother's crown?"

Rhae jerks back, completely thrown. "What?" She asks, inanely.

Her father comes down the steps with harsh footfall. When he reaches her, he yanks her towards him by her arm, holding it in a bruising grip. She yelps in pain, and hears Rickon struggle from where he is held beside her by two of the Kingsguard. "You run away to support the Prince that is loved by all, usurp your brother, the rightful heir.  _Treason_." He shakes her roughly, his grip unrelenting and increasingly painful. He his breathing is raged when he continues. "Clearly, I was too lenient with you. Too tricked by your face. Allow me to rectify that."

He releases her arm, and she is relieved but for a moment. Then she sees him lift his hand up to the side, clearly with the intent to backhand her. She shuts her eyes, flinching and expecting a sting upon her cheek, but instead feels herself being covered.

' _Rickon.'_ She knows.

And when she opens her eyes, she sees the sight she expected. Rickon with a reddening cheek, having taken the blow in her place after he somehow extricated himself from Ser Darry and Ser Dayne. Ser Lewyn remains standing on her other side, too far to stop the Prince ( _or perhaps he had chosen not to_ ).

The King's expression grows even more infuriated. "Was it your idea?" He spits out at her brother. "To take my daughter away."

Rickon stands in front of her, still a couple of inches shorter than her but shielding her the only way he can. "With all due respect," Which everyone in the throne room knows is absolutely none felt from the boy towards the King. "I am not the Targaryen known for stealing ladies,  _Your Grace_." He finishes mockingly.

The King looks enraged enough to call for his son's head, but then her father's expression turns pensive. His eyes flit between her and Rickon. Before long suspicion radiates off of him, the same way Rhaenys remembers paranoia used to seep out of her grandfather. ( _'_ _Perhaps trial by fire._ _To prove the Dornish girl a true Targaryen.'_ ).

"I should have known to worry for this." The current King derides. "You both are too close, have always been too close. Perhaps you've some Targaryen habits if not the Targaryen looks."

Rickon and Rhaenys both reel at the implication, and even the three Kingsguard seem taken aback by the King's accusation.

It is Rickon who recovers enough to respond first. "That's  _sick!_ I love her as my  _sister_! I'd never marry her!"

"It doesn't matter what you feel. Rhaenys will leave for Dorne at dawn. The next time you see her, she will be wedding Robb Stark. And in the years between, you are banned from writing to each other." The King speaks his commands calmly, unperturbed by what his words steal from his children. "I will not have you conspiring together against the Crown."

Rhaenys is shocked into stillness, Rickon is too. The King is doing what no one has ever done, tearing them both from the safest person they know.

Finally, Rickon breaks the silence. " _Why_? You've let Aegon and Jon be cruel to me for my entire life, and now you rip away from me the only family I have. How could...  _why_  do you hate me so much?"

Rhaenys wonders the same, has wondered it for a long time.  _'How can a father hate their son?'_ She has long suspected the answer, of course, but doubts her coward of a father will ever voice it.

Since King Rhaegar has always dismissed Rickon, no one expects an answer to her brother's question. But, to everyone's surprise, the King does respond to him. "You were born late."

Rhaenys and Rickon are both baffled at the apparent non sequitur.

"What?" Spouts a confused Rickon.

The King continues, his voice turning colder with every sentence. "You would be larger, the Maester warned me. The birth would likely have complications. So he told me to choose. He could save either you or your mother."

Rickon growls then. "How can you hate me so much, then? You  _chose_ me."

"No." The King's words are ice. "I chose your mother, and yet you breathe while she does not."

Rickon stumbles. "W-What?"

Rhaenys cuts in, remembering that conversation too well (it has haunted her for  _years_ ). " _Liar_." She hisses. "You sentenced Lyanna to die for a daughter, and were angry when the gods gave you a son instead." Rhaenys does not know what possesses her to continue, but she does. "You make me sick. You show your true colours today,  _Your Grace._ "

The King's face morphs into bewilderment with her last words. He looks at her strangely then, eyes hooked onto her as if he is seeing someone else in her place.

He shakes his head then, returning from his mind. His eyes still linger on her though, despite his bitter words being directed towards Rickon.

"You ripped through my happiness, and now I send away yours." Their father signals the Kingsguard. "Have the boy confined to his quarters. Rhaenys will be kept in the Maidenvault while the servants pack her belongings."

At his words, Rhaenys feels something sinister twist her gut.

_'Why the Maidenvault?'_

* * *

**Rickon is the only one who sees Rhaenys**

**(everyone else sees Elia)**

* * *

Rhaenys is fourteen and fuming, furiously pacing in some unknown room of the Maidenvault.

_("Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.")_

_'I'm sorry.'_ Rhaenys feels her eyes water, again, and she rubs at them punitively. _'I do not know what to do. I do not know how to save him.'_

Rhaenys is shocked from her brooding by a loud knock on her door. Rhaenys frowns, curious as to who Ser Darry could be announcing at so late an hour.

_'_ _Rickon?!'_  She suspects, and turns with a hopeful smile, only for it to sour when she sees her father instead of her brother.

Well, first she sees him. Then she  _smells_ him. The King reeks of ale.

He wobbles over to her, his gait unbalanced and his eyes not straying from her face. He approaches her with his pungent odor, but Rhaenys stays her ground. Her back holds erect, and her chin up. She will not allow this awful man to see her scared and meek ever again.

He steps towards her, swaggers, then grips her shoulder with his remaining hand to steady himself. He is too close, and the air is saturated with alcohol.

He smiles at her, and Rhaenys nearly keels over on shock. She has not seen him smile in … in  _years_.

He brings his remaining hand up to her hair, fiddling with the inky locks.

"You truly do look so much like your mother." He slurs out, his finger swirling about a strand. "Before Lya, things were different. Elia and I were not in love with each other, but we were fond of each other. And she was truly a sight to look at." His palm moves to her cheek, stroking it in a way that sends uncomfortable chills up Rhaenys's arms. "You have her beauty, but without her frailty." His face is flushed and his eyes droop low, his gaze half on her lips and half in the past. "How badly do you want to be Queen?"

Rhaenys realizes with horror what Aegon's dream truly meant. And further realizes that had he not tried to kill her, she may have done it. May have given herself to her monster of a father thinking it could save Rickon. (A Queen has powers a Princess never will).

But Rhaenys knows better now.

She remembers her grandmother _. 'Queens can be raped.'_

She remembers her mother.  _'Queens can be replaced.'_

And then she remembers Lyanna.  _'Queens can be killed.'_

The King steps even closer, his breath rancid. His only hand falls onto the slope of her neck, and Rhaenys is horrified. It is clear that he no longer sees his daughter, but his dead wife. The woman he had bedded, who had given him children. He is drunkenly desperate for the past, a time when his first wife's life meant his second wife still lived. She looks with urgency to her Kingsguard, eyes pleading for him to do something to stop this. But Ser Darry, the man who has guarded her since she was a child, the man who spent years at her side, the man who she  _trusted_  does nothing but keep his gaze firmly on the opposing wall.

Rhaenys feels something in her chest crack.

(Later, when she looks closely at the growing ache, she will realize it comes from the same fissure first opened by _'they cannot crown a corpse'._ The insidious fracture grows wider with every betrayal, a gaping hole that drains her light.)

She is alone; if she wants to be saved she best save herself, because there will be no one to come to her aid.

Rhaeny's eyes harden as she faces the drunkard. "I'd sooner slit my throat than be your Queen."

Rhaeger seems shaken at that, and his maudlin eyes appear to clear with her rejection.

And then he strikes her across the face so suddenly, that she is thrown across the floor.

(This time his strike hits, there is no Rickon to shield her from it.)

Her eyes water from the pain, so she doesn't see him looming even closer until her head is being pulled up by her hair.

She cries out in pain.

"You really are  _just_  like your mother." He spits it out, venomous now as his mouth brushes her ear. "Enjoy Dorne, my sweet. The Martells will treat you so very well." She feels the way his face snarls into a manic parody of a smile. "But, when I ship you North, well… from what I hear, Robb Stark will quite enjoy tempering your tongue. A savage boy eager to show off to the Northern Lords just how much power he holds over his Targaryen bride. Why, I can only imagine what sordid things he will do to you."

He releases her hair and she drops to her knees, tears of relief streaming down her face when she hears the door to her room slam shut.

_'_ _It's over. I survived.'_

She brings her still shaking hand up to her cheek, then flinches away as her palm meets the throbbing skin. Her face burns, her eyes burn, her veins are aflame, and then Ser Darry comes to her side and has the gall to ask if she is okay.

In that moment, Rhaenys has never hated anyone more.

"If he had not realized I wasn't my mother, would you have stopped him?" She spits out.

He looks conflicted, but she discerns his answer from the guilt flaring in his eyes.

Rhaenys fumes. "You would have let him drag me underneath him? You would have stood by and done nothing as I begged for you to stop him, while he moaned my mother's name and set a bastard inside of me?"

Ser Darry looks nauseous. "It would not have come to that—"

Rhaenys shoves him away from her, forcing herself to stand. She despises the the tremors that shake her body, the tears that continue to trail down her cheeks. She is horrified that Ser Darry had not struck the Kings' hand from her - had not voiced a single objection. Ser Darry had protected her for years, and yet did nothing. It is clear that no one will ever defend her if it means raising a sword against their  _King._  And the next King will be one who has already attempted to kill her. She has  _no one._

_'No. Not no one. I will always have_ _Rickon.'_

At the thought of her younger brother, her closest confidante who is soon to be ripped away from her, Rhaenys feels her heart shudder.

( _'Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.'_ )

"I should be thankful that Rickon has been barred from seeing me off. He might be the only person is this hellish place that would avenge the bruise growing on my face." She starts to walk away from a dumbstruck Ser Darry, eager to seek out Balerion's comfort.

She pauses in her steps, turning to face him over her shoulder. Her voice is dull as she echoes long famous words. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves,  _to protect all women and children_? Do you swear to fight bravely when needed and to do the tasks laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

Ser Darry shivers at her words.  _'Good.'_  Rhaenys thinks maliciously _. 'Let you feel off balance. Let you question your honour, your goodness; let you question your King. He is no longer the saint and saviour you all believed him to be. He has not been that man in years. In truth, I doubt he ever was. No, you all were just comparing him to the madness of King Aerys. And even know when you see his own burgeoning madness, you forgive it, because 'at least it isn't as bad as Aerys.' But which is worse? A man who repeatedly rapes his wife, or a man who would rape his own daughter?'_

"It is a long journey to Dorne, Ser Darry. I suggest you use the time for some personal reflection, perhaps on what it truly means to be a knight."

* * *

**"Promise me, Rickon. Promise me."**

* * *

When she sneaks out shortly after the King leaves her chambers, Ser Darry does not even attempt to stop her, just silently follows while keeping a few paces behind her. From his stormy eyes, the man is clearly still reeling from the night's earlier events.

First they stop by Sam's room. And then she makes her way to the Barracks of the Kingsguard. And then she makes her way to both Ser Barristan and Ser Arys (who are guarding the rooms of Jon and Aegon, respectively).

It is maybe two hours from dawn when they finally approach their last destination.

It is Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn who stand guard outside Rickon's door.

_'_ _Not protecting him,'_  seethes Rhaenys,  _'imprisoning him.'_

She stands before her brother's door and raises a brow. The two guards flinch, uncertain, but remain steadfast in their position.

Rhaenys feels her ire climb, and is just about to unleash her fury when she hears Ser Darry's voice.

"Let them." He says gruffly. "We owe them this, at least."

Ser Lewyn sighs, and Ser Arthur nods, both clearly relieved. The latter knocks on Rickon's door, mustering a tired smile as he tells the boy through his door that he has a visitor.

Rhaenys waits for only a moment before the door is opening, and a blur comes towards her, hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry!" He wails. "I wish—"

"Shhh." Rhaenys shushes him as she runs her hand threw his dark curls. "Shhh."

And then Rickon sobs.

Once the heaving of his shoulders subsides, his face turns to her. His eyes are as red as their house banner, and his fury just as black as the banner of another house when he notes the burgeoning bruise on her face.

"I won't let him get away with it." Rickon vows, voice low and solemn. His arms tighten around her. "I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

Only the two of them know that there are three Rickon is truly referring to with his oath.

She smiles at him, warmly. Bringing her hands to his cheek, she kisses his forehead. "Look out for yourself, please. I could not bear it if something were to happen to you."

Rickon nods distractedly, eyes stuck memorizing the darkening welt on her cheek.

Rhaenys frowns. "That half-hearted nod is not enough. You must promise. Be careful and be smart about this, use your anger and do not let it use you." Rhaenys shakes his shoulders. "Promise me, Rickon. Promise me. I need you to take care with your actions and your words."

"I promise." He says, finally, before tightly hugging her again, and demanding a promise from her. His request is muffled in her shoulder, but she hears his words easily. "Promise me that I will see you again." Rickon sniffles, and Rhaenys is reminded that they are still just children. Rickon is nine, and she is four and ten, and they have been forced to grow and mature beyond their years in this pit of plotters. He is her brother, she is his sister, they are each others' truest friends, and now they will not see each other for  _years_. Rhaenys feels her face crack, her own tears spilling despite her effort to remain strong for her baby brother. Rhaenys gently pushes him away. Rickon seems confused, until she bends down to her side and lifts up a familiar tuft of black fur.

Rickon seems scandalized. "No! Balerion is  _your_  cat."

Rhaenys offers him a watery smile. "He is. You are just borrowing him. And you  _will_ take care of him."  _'And he will take care of you, when I cannot.'_ "And when we see each other again, you will return him to me." She is trying to convey that no matter what, they will see each other again.

She considers it a victory when Rickon smiles back, understanding her message. "A loan?"

_'_ _A shield for your heart, someone nearby to love you even when I am far away.'_

Rhaenys lets out a congested laugh. "Yes, a loan."

Rickon reaches out for their familiar carefully, slowly pulling the feline into his arms. The cat squawks a bit at the transfer, and Rickon pulls on its remaining ear, whispering his jest loudly. "Keep quiet, Balerion. I have a window. Don't tempt me to see if you can fly as well as your namesake." The cat crawls up the Prince in retribution for the taunt, and takes a seat on the back of his head and neck. Rickon sighs, patting the cat affectionately as it makes a home amidst his wild curls.

Rhaenys looks at them, carves this last innocent image of her heart into her mind.

_'_ _Promise me, Rickon. Promise me.'_

* * *

**Rhaenys does not die, but Rickon loses her anyways**

* * *

Morning comes too quickly, and before she knows it Rhaenys is in the middle of a courtyard, her items packed in carriages that are ready to take both her luggage and her to the pier.

Rhaenys is polite and stilted when she exchanges farewells with her brothers. Her father is noticeably absent, for which she is abundantly grateful.

Her skin tingles when Aegon hugs her. There stopped being even a superficial ease of such familiarity between the three of them after the arrow incident, so the act surprises her. She is helped into the carriage by Ser Darry, still refusing to speak to him. Once she is seated in the stifling carriage, she cannot help but look through its overly adorned window as she is taken away from the only home she has ever known. As she watches on, Aegon and Jon become smaller and smaller until they are nothing. She wonders if her father watched her departure from one of the many windows of the Keep?

( _'You really are just like your mother.'_ )

Rhaenys is left with her thoughts, a dangerous thing, she has come to learn.

_'_ _I raised Rickon. But, who had been a mother to Aegon and Jon?'_

Is she to blame for their hatred of her? She had been a mother to Rickon. What had she been to Aegon and Jon? She thought she had been their sister. But maybe they never saw her as family.

Maybe they too only saw the face of Queen Elia. Perhaps they – like the rest – saw only the shadow of a well-loved Queen.

And perhaps in their minds, that shadow morphed into a threat.

_'_ _Did you plot my death together?"_

* * *

**_Crack. Crack. Crack._ **

**_The fissures continue to spread._ **

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So that monster of a chapter sucked some life out of me. Literally 42 pages on my computer.  **PLEASE review, so I know people are actually reading this**  :P It is so utterly heartbreaking to see so many views on the story but so few reviews. In my head, it translates to people giving the story a try and then hating it. And even if that is the case, I wouldn't mind some constructive criticism on how to make the story/my writing better. So  **please review,** even if it's just a review saying you read the chapter and are somewhat happy with it, I'll take it ;P Or better yet, reviews pointing out any grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes (which I'm sure are plentiful, this chapter is too long for me to be capable of editing and still remain fully alert). What did you guys think about Sam? What role do you think he'll play in later chapters? Did the Rickon and Rhaenys sibling bond make you happy or annoyed? Rhaegar is terrible, I know, but non-Joffrey and non-Ramsay villains are needed LOL What do you guys think about Jon? Anyone sense something off about him? Remember,  **we**   **have not seen Jon and Aegon's POVs yet!** If there is one thing you might gather from my other Game of Thrones fanfic, it is that I love playing with unreliable narrators.

(Something to consider: be wary of stories told by someone rather than something you read... this plot has an underbelly...)

Below are the  **Updated Timeline** and **Responses to Reviewers** and  **Preview of upcoming chapters.**

Also looking for a beta to help edit future chapters, anyone interested?

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_**Updated Timeline** _

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(for clarity, I ignored the AC year system)

**Year 0** **-**  Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maesters tell Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die +/- kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant.  **Aegon**   **Targaryen**  born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts.  **Loras Tyrell**  already 3 years old.

**Year 1** **\- Robb Stark**  and  **Margaery Tyrell**  born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheon's seize it they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea.

**Year 2** **\- Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. Lyanna Stark crowned second Queen. Stannis and Renly get their traitor brands. Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy beheaded. Lannisters pay reparations. Tyrells denied Margaery and Aegon betrothal. Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard.  **Gendry born.**

**Year 3** **-**  Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys.  **Rickon Targaryen**  conceived.  **Sansa Stark**  born to Catelyn Stark. Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

**Year 4**  –  **Shireen Baratheon**  (born to  ** _Cersei Baratheon_** ).  **Rickon Targaryen**  born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him).  **Bran** and  **Arya** –twins– born to Catelyn Stark.

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_**Preview for upcoming chapters** _

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_-"So I prayed to the gods "Take him away, make him die". He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I'd condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods "Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him... And he lived. And I couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family...it's all because I couldn't love a motherless child." ~ Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones 3x02: 'Dark Wings, Dark Words'_

-Sometimes... sometimes Rickon thinks Jon is even worse than Aegon

-I am cursed in more ways than one. A  _kinslayer_ , a slight to the gods with my very breath.

-One cannot rule a kingdom they despise.

-AND FINALLY – RICKON AND SHIREEN's MEETING

(with some overprotective Renly thrown in ;) )


	4. Chapter 2c

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is too easy to see Rickon with a crown on his head. And in the shadows, Rhaenys with a hand's pin and a pretty smile, slowly poking holes into her father's reign...

**HERE COMES PART 3 OF CHAPTER 2!**

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**DISCLAIMER:**  Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation, means of procrastination, and anxiety over whether readers will like the story enough to review or hate it enough to flame ;)

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**STORY SO FAR**

(I know I take too long to update, and I'm sorry! Use this summary to reacquaint yourselves with where we're at in this AU!)

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 **Chapter 1:**  Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there are already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom.

 **Chapter 2 Part 1:**  We saw why Rhaegar was so brutal with his reparations (punishments for the rebel supporters), as well as how Cersei and Stannis came to care for each other (with some hints as to what Maggy's new prophecy to Cersei was throughout the chapter). Renly, who is traumatized from the branding, essentially vows to protect Cersei's child. Cersei has fears she will die in childbirth. This spurs her epiphany re: Tyrion not being to blame for her mother's death. She invites Tyrion to Storm's End.

 **Chapter 2 Part 2:**  We see how Rhae becomes close to Lyanna. Lyanna makes Rhae promise to look after Rickon, fearing that Rhaegar won't because Rhaegar wanted a daughter (for the prophecy, though Rhaenys isn't made aware of that). Lyanna's POV re: why she ran, and we see that she writes letters to her brothers (sent to Winterfell). She also writers letters to the children (given to Rhaegar). From Lewyn's POV we see his struggle re: his vows, as well as Jaime's. We see that Rickon and Rhae are super tight, and that Rickon thinks of her as his sister/best friend/mother/etc. From Rickon's POV, Aegon hates him and Jon sides with Aegon. Arrow incident happens. Rhaegar is a jackass about it. Rhaenys finds out about the arrow incident and gets Sam (Maester in training) to be put in charge of Rickon's tutelage while ordering Ser Arthur Dayne to train him in swordplay. From Sam's POV we learn the Citadel is an independent city state

**[I am well aware that in cannon, the Citadel is NOT a city state and NOT between the Reach and the Riverlands. However, for the purpose of this story, the Citadel is like the Vatican (an independent city state) – I am warping characters, history, and geography in this fic to suit my plot needs because ffn LOL. The significant of this will make sense later.]**

Rhaenys gets sick, Rickon tells her Aegon tried to poison her. Rhae tries to get herself betrothed to Robb Stark and Rickon made a ward of the North so that they can escape King's Landing, but Rhaegar is again, a jackass. They try to run, Rhaegar accuses them of planning to usurp crown from Aegon and 'punishes' them by sending Rhae to Dorne the next morning and banning her and Rickon from writing to each other. Rhae says something that mirrors Elia in chapter 1, Rhaegar gets drunk and essentially offers to wed her to make her Queen. Rhae says no, and gets an unfortunate dose of betrayal when Ser Darry doesn't step in to help her against Rhaegar's advances. Rhae repeats the knight vows, making Ser Darry question them. She makes an appearance to Sam, the members of the Kingsguard (though you won't know what for until later!), and then finally Rickon (to whom she gives Balerion as a "loan"). Rhaenys leaves for Dorne, worried for Rickon's safety, as well as fearing what Jon & Aegon are capable of.

 **Note: to fully understand the first part of chapter 2c (this chapter),** I would recommend re-reading the segment of 2b (last chapter) under "Rickon is the only one who sees Rhaenys" (i.e. the bit with Rhaegar and Rhaenys and Ser Darry).

 **A/N:** As always, responses to reviewers, updated timeline, and preview for Chapter 3 at the bottom.

 **A/N:** Side note – I just realized that one of Cersei's first lines was "surely the dead can wait" (it was to Robert re: him wanting to visit Lyanna in the Stark crypts). GRRM's foreshadowing truly knows no bounds – WHAT A BRILLIANT WRITER.

 **A/N:** I will admit that - though I try my very hardest to try to update chapters on AO3 whenever I go back to make changes to already posted chapters - ffn is where the **most up to date** of all the chapters are. AO3's editing software just makes it too difficult to edit things when I have chapters with centred allignment. 

 **A/N:**  Another side note: remember, you  **have not** seen  **Jon's POV** yet! So  **Jon fans** , and reviewers wondering why the fudge he is apparently so OOC, please don't give up on this story quite yet. His actions will make sense when his POV comes, I promise!

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.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

_"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

_~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

_"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

_~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

_"The best part of him died with her."_

_~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

x

_"It should have been you"_

_~ Catelyn [to Jon], Game of Thrones, 1x01_

x

_"An open heart is what you'll get in Flea Bottom if you're not careful, my dear."_

_~ Cersei, Game of Thrones, 3x01_

x

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

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**.x-X-x.**

**Wolves Aflame**

_Chapter 2: children without mothers_

_(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

**_Part 3_ **

**.x-X-x.**

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**First, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Elia's face**

* * *

When Rhaenys Targaryen's wheelhouse finally trundles onto Dornish sands, the bruise on her cheek is gone.

_Its repercussions are not._

There are no scars left (on the outside, at least). Her shining dark hair cascades over smooth tawny shoulders, while burnt orange fabric cords around her body. She looks like her mother reborn. This is not coincidence; it is deliberate calculation. It's an equation that pans out as expected when Dorne meets her arrival with effusive fanfare. The smallfolk cheer with starry eyes; the nobles rejoice.

' _Elia. Elia. Elia.'_  they whisper in awe. ' _Elia. Elia. Elia.'_

Do they even know  _her_  name?

 _'Of course not,'_ Rhaenys thinks bitterly, as she keeps a pleasant smile plastered to her face.

She will forever be  _Elia Martell_ to everyone.

_("You have her beauty, but without her frailty.")_

Rhaenys's no-longer-blemished cheek burns.

She loves her mother, she does. But Rhaenys does not forgive the prolific concept that she is crafted by the Gods for the sole purpose of being her well-loved mother's replacement.

Rhaenys approaches her mother's family for the first time with a quiet hello (Ser Arthur Dayne once mentioned how shy her mother could be when she was younger). She regally waves at the smallfolk lined up to see her, while kissing the smooth foreheads of their outstretched babes ("They loved when the Queen embraced their children," Ser Lewyn Martell told her, years ago). Rhaenys even begins spinning her charm onto the nobles of Dorne (even the old, disgusting ones. The ones who tell her that - despite her face - she has some of Queen Rhaella's beauty in her, all while running their eyes up and down the curves of her body). Rhaenys tolerates their lecherous gazes with a pleasant expression.

It's all not necessary, not truly, because after all: ' _Elia. Elia. Elia.'_

Rhaenys has to forcibly stop herself from falling to her knees and sobbing when she sees how plentiful and strong the peach trees are in her mother's homeland. But she doesn't dare look too close. Even just a glimpse of them propels her into her past, where she hears four-year-old Rickon laughing and squealing,  _"Rhae! Rhae, look! Look how high I am!"_

She passes many of the haunting trees – the ones that look so much like the ones she once taught Rickon to climb, like the ones Viserys once taught  _her_  to climb – on her way to massive atrium of Sunspear's Glory Gallery, where a grand welcoming banquet awaits. By the time she shakes her mind from the past, she is seated at the head table and in a conversation with her infamous uncle, sampling her way through the lavish foods.

The main table is lined with plump nectarines that burst in her mouth, honeyed duck that is perfectly glazed, and dear goodness, the sweet roasted peaches —

"Did you know those were your mother's favourite, too?"

**_{They don't taste so sweet anymore, do they doppelgänger?}_ **

"No, I did not." The sugar turns to acid in her throat. "Please, do tell me more, Uncle Oberyn."

Does her smile still look real? She hopes so. Even if it falters, she suspects the haze of alcohol will blind the others to it. Arbour Gold saturates the feast in honour of her arrival. And yet, despite her cousins' and half-cousin's (and even Uncle Oberyn's) persistent prodding, she politely declines any. Not even a sip of the amber liquid. Uncle Doran is pleased by her abstinence, "your mother wasn't fond of alcohol either." At that, Rhaenys almost hisses out that, believe it or not, her every decision isn't an attempt to be like her mother (well it is, just not for the reasons they think).

After all…  _his_  breath smelt pungently of wine, an odour she will forever associate with that awful night. And it is already all she can handle to just steady the roiling of her stomach when noblemen speak to her with fermented venom on their lips.

_("Enjoy Dorne, my sweet. The Martells will treat you so very well.")_

Her welcome celebration lasts both a second and a decade. Afterwards, she spends some time exploring her new residence arm-in-arm with Arianne (Rhaenys makes a mental note of her uncle's solar during the tour she requested of her cousins). A young Quentyn and an even younger Trystane trail behind. The duo playfully take turns shoving each other into the shallow pools that line Sunspear's gardens, before an exasperated Sarella and Tyene yank them apart and haul them off to bed. This happens despite the boys' avid protestations that – at ten and seven years of age - they are "men" and too old to be put to bed by their cousins "like babes". Once the four of them and their ruckus finally fade away, it is just sixteen-year-old Arianne and fourteen-year-old Rhaenys (and a silent shadow, but she chooses to disregard that traitor).

Rhaenys feels guilty for being so glad at her youngest cousins' departure, but Trystane's overdramatic whining in response to Sarella's playful reprimanding was too close to too many personal memories of her own.

 _("No, Rhae, no! I don't see why I have to go meet all your lady friends, again. They always smell too flowery, and they always pat my head, and they always pinch my cheeks, and they always giggle too much, and they always_ _—_ _"_

_"You'll know well enough later, Rickon. Just be polite, and endearing."_

_"I'm always polite, and in-dah-ring!"_

_"Oh? And pray tell, baby brother, what do—"_

_"I'm NOT a baby! I am six! SIX!"_

_"Well then. My 'six years of age' brother, what do you think_ en-dea-ring _means?"_

_"Just so! It means being in. the. ring! Like in the courtyards, when the knights are ready to spar. Oh, oh, oh! Now that would be fun. Are we sparring with your friends today?"_

_"In a sense.")_

Arianne rolls her eyes affectionately at the antics of her younger brothers, before she nudges Rhaenys away from the garden and towards their rooms.

"Come along, Rhaenys. Don't waste your time looking at these small pools. When I take you to the Water Gardens,  _then_  you will have reason stare so dazedly."

Arianne continue to chatter endlessly about how glorious it will be to get to know each other – extolling promises to share only the most salacious of gossip, and vowing that they will embark upon an unbreakable bond of sisterhood. Rhaenys smiles warmly at the older girl's exuberance – not doubting that the two of them will become closer than sisters by the time her tenure in Dorne reaches its end. ' _It will be nice,'_  Rhaenys thinks wistfully, _'to have a true confidant again.'_

_("You are banned from writing to each other.")_

She nearly frowns.  _Will I forever hear his voice?_ A flash of wet grey eyes and she knows; so long as Rickon is held prisoner in that pit, neither will ever escape the King's words.

_("Please don't leave me, Rhae. Please, please don't leave me. I'm scared. I don't want to stay here without you. I can't. Please. Please don't leave me here all alone.")_

Rhaenys gently extricates herself from her cousin, before the girl can discern the half-moon divots being carved into Rhaeny's palms. "I have a few words to share with Uncle Doran, but then I promise that I will join you once more in your rooms so we can return to our conversation. And continue to know each other better." Rhaeyns smiles to her cousin, easing the sting of the Targaryen's rather abrupt leave. Those false smiles are truly becoming second nature to her now.

**_{Perhaps she belongs in King's Landing after all?}_ **

Arianne pouts childishly. The mischievous expression on the older girl's face reminds Rhaenys so poignantly of Rickon that she loses her breath. But her smile stays steady on the outside.  _'I will not show anyone my weakness, not ever again.'_

_("Learn your place.")_

Rhaenys approaches Doran's solar with her silent shadow. Ser Darry still hasn't spoken much since departing King's Landing, beyond the occasional mandatory "Your Grace," and Rhaenys finds herself okay with that (forces herself to be okay with that). After all, he is a knight sworn to the King first and foremost. It is a lesson she learned the hard way, and a lesson she will  _never_  forget again.

_("How badly do you want to be Queen?")_

The heavy door to the lord's solar is opened by one of the Dornish knights, a large and dark-skinned man who carries a fierce-looking halberd.  _'Areo Hotah,'_  she recalls from the introductions. She thanks him by name, offering an especially kind smile. His mouth stays solemn, but she can just make out the easing of his harsh eyes as he finishes opening the doorway.

**_{Now she knows better how to recruit an army loyal only to her.}_ **

When Rhaenys turns to face the shadow/traitor, her smile stays. She may learn slowly, but  _she_   _learns_. She voices her command to him sweetly. "You may remain out here, Ser Darry." Not Ser Hairy, not anymore. Ser Hairy would have never let her father raise a hand to her. The man who held her while she sobbed as a child would have protected her with his life. Ser Hairy is dead. Or, more likely, Ser Hairy never existed at all. He was just the fanciful wish of naïve little girl who relied on others to keep her safe, a stupid little girl who cared too easily for people who never cared half as much for her.

_'Not anymore.'_

Mayhaps she will warm towards her cousins and her uncles, but she will never let them into her heart. Not fully, not anyone, not ever again. The battered thing has just enough space for her and Rickon, some ghosts, and a cat with one ear.

(She feels so stupid for her earlier thoughts. What is to stop Aegon from seducing Arianne with a betrothal? How will her cousin's pretty-sounding 'sisterhood' stand versus a chance for power? If Rhaenys has learned only one lesson from King's Landing, it is that power always wins.)

**{And there is power in a dead Queen's face.}**

Rickon is the exception; he would sooner carve out his own eyes than ever hurt her. The rest of that wretched place is a cesspool of liars  _and backstabbers and sycophants and men idolizing a to-be-deposed King and her horrible would-be-kin-slaying brothers and why does she still feel the King's hand on her skin?_

_("It'll be okay. I'll make it okay. But you have to listen to me very carefully. You have to do everything I say. Do you understand, Rickon?")_

Rhaenys steps inside the room gracefully, to meet the surprised brown eyes of Doran Martell. She seems to have interrupted the Lord Paramount's as he was sorting through the vast piles of papers heaped upon his desk. For all their towering, the documents seem well-kept.

_("Rhaenys will be kept in the Maidenvault.")_

In her (frequent) nightmares, Ser Darry does nothing to help her as the King (not father, not  _ever_  again) repeatedly takes what he sent her to the Maidenvault for. Every time he climbs astride her it is to the twisted background of  _'Elia. Elia. Elia.'_  At the thought, she inadvertently brings her hand up to her neck, echoes of pain and disgust from an unwanted touch, an almost-reality. Then, she sharply rips her hand away.  _'No weakness.'_  She commands herself sternly.  _'Not ever again.'_

Rage thrums through her veins. But it is not un-tempered. Oh no, not at all. She has had weeks of travel to simmer, to channel the rage and hone it into something that will change the realm.

 _'You signed your death warrant, the moment you dared to threaten me.'_ She resolves with a straightened spine, her heart hardened.

_("Please don't leave me here.")_

Because no one knows this, not even her traitorous shadow, but Rhaenys whispered dangerous words into her little brother's ear before she left the Keep. Not a soul but them will ever know the seditious seeds she carefully planted in his mind, the way his soft grey eyes steeled when she promised him…

_"One day, Rickon."_

"Princess Rhaenys," her eldest uncle addresses with a warm smile. Then he meets her dark eyes, and perhaps he recognizes the volatile churning, because his casual voice turns concerned. "Is something wrong?"

_("I will not have you conspiring together against the Crown.")_

* * *

**the prince that is loved by all**

* * *

Despite the fact that Princess Rhaenys had left for Dorne just over a year ago, Ser Arthur Dayne keeps his word to Elia's daughter and continues to train the ten-year-old Prince Rickon as often as his schedule allows. Despite the princess's…  _warnings_ … to the Kingsguard the night before she left, Arthur could technically stop these lessons. However, he finds himself incapable of it. The princess's departure had cost the boy his only shield. And by the time of her exit, Arthur had already grown too fond of the youngest prince to leave him without any means of defending himself in this nest of predators.

And truthfully, it is… pleasant. To have a student, a protégé, someone to whom Arthur can pass on his hard-earned knowledge. Someone that Arthur can watch grow with pride.

(Someone that Arthur can help raise.)

They have just finished another early morning practice session in one of the peripheral training yards of the Red Keep. Now, Arthur watches the royal boy clean his sword carefully. The young prince is patient with the blade.  _'The way a true knight should be,'_  thinks Arthur with teeming pride. "Well done, Your Grace." He says, smiling warmly at the boy. "You're progressing at an outstanding pace. I haven't seen anyone take to swords so naturally since Jaime Lannister."

Rickon's cheeks flare red in the most endearing way, clearly embarrassed and delighted in equal measure. He brings a hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head and shyly smiles. "I think my improvement is more a credit to your teaching than my skill."

Ser Arthur laughs heartily and gives the boy an affectionate ruffle of his dark brown curls. The boy of ten playfully bats the knight's hand away.

"Truly, Rickon," Ser Arthur says gently. "I am impressed."

Rickon's gaze shoots down to his dirtied training boots, but Arthur can see the genuine grin that breaks out on the boy's mouth.

"I… I thank you for the praise, Ser Arthur. I hope to one day become worthy of it." The boy's cheeks are truly aflame now, the red spreading down his neck as well. The prince stumbles back into the courtesies that his sister no doubt taught him, likely because he is uncertain of how to respond to such commendation.

(After all, Arthur knows that Rickon is no longer used to such open praise, not since the King sent Princess Rhaenys away.)

At Arthur's raised brow, Rickon seems to shake off his lapse of insecurity. He returns to his usual rambunctious self, as he sheathes the blade and confidently hands the scabbard back to Arthur. Rickon offers a larger grin. "Thanks again for the training. I guess I'm off."

Arthur's hand on Rickon's shoulder foils the boy's attempt at a quick escape. The purple-eyed man's mouth quirks up as he teases his pupil. "Off to play at peasant again?"

Rickon bristles. "Hey! Those are my  _friends_!"

Arthur sighs. "Just try not to make any trouble this time?" He entreats.

Rickon smirks, reminiscent of the way a young Rhaenys once did when she promised to stop climbing trees (which of course never happened). "I'm not a troublemaker, I'm a trouble- _chaser_. There is a distinct difference, Ser Arthur."

 _'That doesn't make any sense, you unruly boy,'_ Arthur thinks fondly. "Mhm." Arthur nods indulgently. The Sword of the Morning attempts to make his voice come out stern with his next words, but doubts he is able to cover all of his underlying amusement. "There is also a distinct difference between caution and carelessness."

Rickon snorts. "I'll be careful enough. The last thing I want is to waste any more time in Pycelle's Torture Room."

"I think you mean  _Grand Maester_  Pycelle's  _healing chambers."_

Rickon shrugs. "Agree to disagree, Ser Arthur."

Ser Arthur laughs deeply before mumbling out an affectionate "insouciant brat" and shooing Rickon away. "Whatever trouble you undoubtedly intend to incite, at least try not to get caught?"

"You'd be surprised at what I can get away with, Ser Arthur." Rickon drawls with a tight smile, before it curves into a playfully smug smirk. "I can be quick."

Ser Arthur swats the back of Rickon's head and gives the boy a genuinely stern look. "Which means nothing if you become overconfident."

Rickon nods seriously, a solemn look overtaking his eyes as his right hand comes to rest over his left upper arm, where Arthur knows a scar from an arrow lays under his tunic. "I don't think I'll ever be in danger of that." Rickon mumbles. "Not here."

( _"But I bet you both don't believe me. No one ever does."_ )

Arthur frowns, his gut twisting at the thought of the arrow-made wound. Arthur doubts that scarring afternoon will ever leave him.

"Once more."

Rickon looks up at Arthur's curt words. The prince's grey eyes widen in a mixture of confusion and gratefulness. And yet, despite the offer for more training, the boy's smile stays buried.  _'Buried under the past, under memories of how his own family is capable of hurting him_.'

( _"I don't care! He never talks to me or looks at me, but even he should care if Aegon could have killed me! I'm his son too!"_ )

Arthur's frown deepens as that afternoon continues to replay in his mind. "One more spar, and then you may leave."

Rickon nods, clearly still confused, but raises his sword.

(Arthur understands the lad's puzzlement. Rickon doesn't understand that Arthur blames himself for many things; that Arthur needs some form of reassurance that he will not awake one morning to castle's servants whispering that his playful, rambunctious, unruly, endearingly petulant, and  _innocent_  student has been slain by another of the royal family. If not for their lack of trying, then at least, for Rickon's skill in defending himself.)

At some point during the spar, Rickon's smile returns.

When they finish, Rickon is on the ground heaving for air and drenched in sweat. Of course, Rickon has never won a spar against the Sword of the Morning (not yet). But he is taking longer and longer to lose. Arthur nods at Rickon approvingly. The prince grins back.

"You did well." Arthur says. "I'll clean the blade so you aren't too late to meet with your friends. But," Arthur's eyes narrow. "No mischief."

Rickon slowly climbs up onto his feet and nods solemnly, mimicking the severity of a septon. "I will not actively seek out any new mischief, I promise."

A pause.

There are so many obvious loopholes in that vow, that Arthur and Rickon both snort before the latter bursts into carefree chuckles.

(It's easier to laugh over little things, than to address the horrible things. Things like how Rickon got that scar on his arm, and why Ser Arthur trains him so diligently.)

Arthur's own escaped laughter tapers as Rickon races off, excited to converse with the smallfolk and find trouble with his motley band of misfits in Flea Bottom. "Tomorrow at dawn!" Arthur yells at Rickon's back. "Don't be late!" He adds, even though Rickon never is. "And get some breakfast in you, too!"

Rickon waves a hand to show he heard the instructions, just before he turns the corner and his northern form leaves Arthur's sight.

With Rickon gone, Arthur is now alone in the training area. His gaze shifts up to meet the burning light of the sun. It is not so glaring as the Dornish one, but blazing in a different way. Arthur briefly wonders how the princess is doing back in his and Elia's homeland.  _'She will have adapted well,'_  he thinks _. 'She is stronger and smarter than anyone knows.'_

Arthur frowns, once again remembering Princess Rhaenys's warning from her final night in the Keep. The princess had been ruthless in her reprimand of both him and Lewyn the very moment she left Rickon's room after having put the grief-stricken prince to sleep. Apparently, per recounts from his other brother-in-arms', she had done the same with all the Kingsguard members. He remembers her harsh words clearly, her blatant threats, and the darkening bruise on her cheek even more so. He never had a chance to ask Jonathor about what happened in the Maidenvault before the man left the Keep with his charge. Then again, if the blackness in the princess's gaze was any indication, perhaps it was best that Arthur didn't know. One less thing to mull over, one less confirmation that the Rhaegar he once knew and admired is gone.

_("Are you so ambitious for your brother's crown?")_

That night in the throne room – after foiling Rhaenys and Rickon's attempt at escape – had been… jarring. In more ways than one. He still remembers the betrayal in Rickon's eyes as he held the boy back when Rhaegar harshly gripped Rhaenys. He also remembers loosening his grip in shock the moment he realized Rhaegar meant to  _strike_  his  _daughter_.  _Elia's_ daughter.

_("You run away to support the prince that is loved by all, usurp your brother, the rightful heir. Treason.")_

Not for the first time, Arthur muses on Rhaegar's accusations.

Rickon has been well-liked by the small folk and nobles since his birth.

 _'Humans are fickle with their affections.'_  Arthur grouses as he thinks on Prince Jon. Lyanna Stark's older son: the one who the smallfolk and nobles alike despised. In their minds, Jon symbolized the affair that their Realm bled for, while Rickon did what they could not and disposed of a hated monarch. In their minds, Rickon's birth was an act of the Gods – a "just" punishment for the woman they heatedly remember as the "Duty-Dodger" Queen.

But, of course, it is Rickon who made himself well- _loved_  instead of just well- _liked_.

He is friendly with the small folk. The boy often uses Rhaegar's neglect and consequent lack of royal responsibilities to meander around Flea Bottom and other areas of King's Landing. He uses that time to befriend the smiths on the Street of Steel, the dyers and the bakers, the tavern workers and the dock workers, and word has it, apparently even the smugglers.

And then there were the nobles. The nobles  _adore_  Princess Rhaenys, who is beautiful and charming and elegant and graceful ( _'just like Elia had been'_ ). The nobles love Princess Rhaenys, and Rhaenys was absolute in her love for Rickon. There is no doubt in Arthur's mind (now, at least) that the girl had used her unending time with the noble ladies to gush over the adorable antics of her youngest brother, endearing him to them through her stories.  _'Protecting Rickon, both subtly and overtly. Cunning. More so than anyone ever expected from gentle Elia's daughter.'_

Even among the knights of the city, Rickon is well-respected. Despite being Arthur's pupil, and his reputation as a burgeoning protégé, Rickon never wastes an opportunity to seek out instruction. He is eager to learn from anyone. _'Just like how Jaime once was.'_

In truth, Rickon is good at burrowing his way into the heart of everyone he meets. _'Well, everyone except the male royals.'_  Arthur thinks bitterly.

So, in a convulted way, Arthur understands Rhaegar's suspicions.

_'It is too easy to see Rickon with a crown on his head.'_

\- And in the shadows, Rhaenys with a hand's pin and a pretty smile, slowly poking holes into her father's reign. After all, no  _true_  player believes the King to be the one in power. Oh no. -

_'The one who controls the King, controls Westeros.'_

And Rickon Targaryen would do anything for his sister…

Perhaps even plot for a crown he doesn't want.

_("You'd be surprised at what I can get away with, Ser Arthur.")_

* * *

**Parading around the alleys of Flea bottom with a guise of no wealth is easy and fun**

**-x-**

**(it takes him too long to realize that he treats their squalor like a pageant)**

* * *

Balerion joins Rickon mere moments after the prince escapes Ser Arthur's skeptical gaze. Rickon grins at his furry companion. "Eager to see the streets again too, huh, Bal?"

The duo casually makes their way towards the nearest entrance to the tunnelways below the Red Keep. It takes a few turns, but eventually Rickon reaches one of his hidden clothing stashes. Ever since he started his secret escapades, he had made sure to always leave a bundle of dirty clothes to wear through the streets, along with a couple of coins. It was easy enough to station them strategically once he grew more comfortable with the tunnels. Rickon quickly changes from his dirtied royal training garb into something even dirtier, and even rubs some dust onto his cheeks, before he and Bal sneak out of the Red Keep _. 'Rhae would probably roll her eyes at my clothes.'_  He thinks with a budding smile, before he forcibly stops the thought because it hurts too much to think about her.

_("It doesn't matter what you feel. Rhaenys will leave for Dorne at dawn.")_

"Hmm." Rickon examines the sun's position in the sky _. 'It's not even near midday yet_ ,' he thinks with a contemplative frown. "Everyone will still be working for a couple hours still. Maybe we should hang out by the docks for a while." Rickon rubs his jaw. "Maybe Griff is about?" Rickon turns down to see an entirely unaffected cat. He nudges his companion playfully. "Well? Say something if you disagree, Bal, or I'm taking your silence for acceptance."

Balerion gives Rickon a decidedly unimpressed look.

.x.X.x.

As Rickon strolls along the Hook towards Fishmonger's Square, the young prince dressed as a pauper finds himself accompanied by both his cat and his thoughts.

 _'Mayhaps it is a good thing that I hate the Keep so much.'_  He ponders. After all, if the King and the other princes' presences were bearable, then he would have never started exploring the tunnels. He had used them since he was five to hide from his supposed family whenever Rhae left for her lady duties, and he had lost himself within the winding paths for weeks while he grieved Rhae's departure.

_("You ripped through my happiness, and now I send away yours.")_

Moreover, without the tunnels, Rickon would have never had such unfettered access to start his frequent trips through the streets of King's Landing. He would have never met the ensemble of friends he has now. And what a band of misfits they all were. There was a prince playing at pauper. There was Gendry, the apprentice at Mott's shop ("The only smith worth the steel," per Gendry's loyal adverts). The black-haired apprentice likes to pretend to be gruff, but Rickon suspects that almost thirteen-year-old Gendry is secretly the softest of them all. Then there is Griff, a fourteen-year-old Essosi trader's son. Griff doesn't actually know the rest of the lads, since he is usually limited to the trading docks by his father. Then there is Lommy, a dyer's son who looks more like a girl, and didn't appreciate Rickon pointing it out back when they first met. (They became especially fast friends.) Then there is Easel, the innkeeper's daughter, who Lommy  _affectionately_ calls Weasel, much to the thirteen-year-old girl's annoyance. There is even an eleven-year-old baker's boy who calls himself Hot Pie, could you believe it?  _Hot Pie_.

**_{"Misfits without Mothers" – that's what Old Man Osim called you lot two days ago, remember?}_ **

_('A stupid, wrong name.' Ten-year-old Rickon had seethed with wet eyes in the dark twists of the tunnels, after he returned to the Keep that evening. 'I have a mother; she was just sent away. But she'll come back for me, she promised. And Rhae always keeps her promises.')_

Rickon ignores his past murky thoughts. Instead, he focuses on the hours leading up to stupid big-mouthed, cranky Osim's words. Before the old man's stupid words, Rickon was at The Lattice – one of the only taverns that tolerated himself and his fellow under-aged friends.

.x.X.x.

_The moment he enters the Lattice, a lithe arm throws itself around his shoulders._

_"Well, well. If it ain't my fav'rite runaway royal!" Whispers Easel, as_ _the tavern girl_ _ruffles Rickon's hair._

_The prince scowls. "Not my hair!" He playfully bats away her hands. Easel merely responds by chuckling before leaving to tend to one of the beckoning patrons. She tosses out a half-hearted warning to "stay away from the ale" as she turns away. The well-intentioned almost-threat is…_

_'It's exactly what Rhaenys would do, if she were here'._

_The painful reminder nearly swallows Rickon's jovial mood, before he forcibly pushes it away, and stalks towards a table occupied by a pair of familiar faces. He exaggeratedly rolls his eyes as he approaches his companions before grumbling out a greeting. "I can't wait until I'm taller than her. Why does everyone always have to pat my hair?"_

_"Gods, you spend too much time with Lommy." Snorts the typically gruff voice of Gendry, as the smith's apprentice munches on some bread._

_"Hey! It ain't no crime to care about lookin' good!" says an affronted Lommy, who is seated right across from Gendry. Rickon smiles as he pulls up onto the bench next to the twelve-year-old dyer, who is working his way through a bowl of brown._

_"Care about yer looks, eh?" Easel pops up from behind, in her typically unpredictable way. Rickon's gaze pays particularly close attention to the tray on her arm, which supports a wobbling haphazard pile of empty dishes, just one whisper away from finding a new home on_ his _head. "Try wipin' up those grubby green paws of yers, then." Easel sneers as she whacks Lommy's offending hands with a used ladle that she pulls off the precariously perched platter. (Rickon really doesn't appreciate the way her action makes the leaning tower of dishes angle even closer to him). "The same ones which be leavin' bits of dried dye on my Pa's tables. Mess that he be makin' me to clean up!"_

_Lommy puffs out his chest and brings his hands up in pride. "These are 'cause of my skills. They're a…" Lommy frowns, thinking of how to convey his thoughts._

_"A badge of your trade?" Rickon offers._

_"Ya!" Lommy nods emphatically. "What Rick said! And you should be respecting your customers, yuh know, Weasel! Or we'll be taking our business to… to… to The Cony instead! Ya, to the Cony!"_

_Rickon can't help but snort at that 'threat'. It's well known amongst their group that the only reason The Lattice even tolerates their under-aged, non-ale drinking selves is because apparently the innkeeper had been friends with Lommy's late mother. And, of course, because the man was Easel's father._

_Easel rolls her eyes and makes sure to smack Lommy's hands once more – even harder – with the ladle, just because she can, before strutting back to the kitchen with her miraculously upright tray. Lommy yanks his hands away and lets out a rather high-pitched, "eat mud, Weasel!"_

_She just tosses him a select finger over her shoulder, much to Gendry and Rickon's amusement._

_Within seconds, the ragged cloth covering the Lattice's entrance is shoved aside once more, to reveal a familiar hefty form lumbering towards the seated trio._

_"Rick!" Exclaims a cheerful Hot Pie, as he plops down next to Gendry. "How's it?! Been too long! Much too long!"_

_Rickon barely holds back a snicker as the annoyed smith's apprentice shoves his bread away from Hot Pie's straying hands. "Well enough, I suppose." Rickon shrugs._

_Hot Pie being Hot Pie, needs no prompting to continue the conversation. "Since I last seen you, I got this new bread recipe I tried at the bakery. You gott'a try some! The trick is to batter the dough with—"_

_"Ain't no one care about yer bakery's bread, Pie!" Lommy cuts in with a long-suffering eye roll._

_"Well you wasn't saying that when I gave ya a batch the other day, huh, were ya!"_

_"Speaking of bread, how about keeping away from mine, Hot Pie." Grumbles Gendry as he once more plucks his bread roll out of Hot Pie's hand. Hot Pie makes a wounded sound, and Gendry being Gendry, sighs loudly before shoving half a roll back to a pleased Hot Pie._

_Rickon's stomach decides to join the banter, and lets out a loud growl. The table is quiet just for a moment, before the four boys descend into a round of deep, belly-aching laughter. Then it's Gendry's turn to roll his eyes, as the apprentice tosses his last half of bread at Rickon._

_Laughs and insults flow easily between the four boys. Throughout it all, the three boys from Fleabottom call him Rick, the initial alias the prince had used when meeting them all those many months ago, despite the three now knowing his true name._

_Despite them now knowing they sit at the same table as a prince._

_'And wasn't that a story? How we first met? How they learned my true name? How annoyingly long it took to get Gendry to stop bowing and looking to the ground and calling me 'yer grace' back when-'_

_Lommy pulls Rickon out of his memories and back into the table's conversation._

_"So, Pie, did yuh know Rick fancies himself a knight nowadays?"_

_"Really?!" Hot Pie's eyes widen, the exclamation sending drops of recently ordered stew from the baker's mouth onto Gendry's exposed forearm. Hot Pie shrugs (somewhat) apologetically towards the disgusted smith (who is dramatically wiping his spittle-covered arm on the table), before Hot Pie returns his eager gaze back to Rickon."A knight?" Hot Pie stuffs another bit of bread (Rickon's, this time) into his mouth, expression contemplative. He looks ready to open his mouth to talk, but a stern look from Gendry has the now abashed baker pointedly swallowing before he speaks. "A knight, wow… 'cause you've got armour now, right?"_

_Gendry groans loudly. "We've talked about this, Hot Pie."_

_At Hot Pie's clueless look, there is a loud smack as Gendry's palm hits his forehead. Lommy pinches the bridge of his nose, while Rickon laughs so hard his eyes start to tear._

_He's glad he hates the Keep. He found his true brothers in the streets._

.x.X.x.

Back to the present time, Rickon and Bal make it to the docks by Fishmonger's Square easily. Bal trails loyally beside Rickon as the incognito prince casually browses through the stands. Rickon beams as he breathes in the smell of salt and fresh fish and spices from around the world. He meanders around all the merchants arguing over prices in different languages, and jests with a couple of hecklers who he is familiar with. He almost passes by one of the smaller stalls – though stall is an exceedingly generous term. A young boy with ruddy hair and an older man with a ruddy face show off their oysters, no doubt collected from the edges of Blackwater Bay. The boy is thin and tall, similar to his father, with disproportionately long limbs and fingers. The boy – who appears probably two or three years younger than himself – smiles at Rickon with some missing teeth. Rickon smiles back before offering some coin to buy a handful of oysters.

He walks a couple of metres down the bay before catching up to his furry companion (which is a rare thing – Rickon usually lets Bal wander where he may, never bothering to chase him down). Rickon kneels to offer a piece of his breakfast to Balerion, who bristles in indignation before turning away from the sticky shell.

"Picky, picky." Rickon chastises, before impishly flicking the cat's sole ear and swallowing the salty meat between the rejected shunned shell.

"Rick! Bal!"

Rickon rises and turns with a bright smile towards the familiar voice. "Griff!" He greets back.

The older boy runs up to Rick and they meet arms.

"How have you been?" Rickon asks.

"Good, good." Griff's smile broadens. "My step-mum just told us I'm due for another sibling some months from now."

"That's great, Griff. Tell her and your dad I say congratulations. Your brothers as well." Rickon smirks. "I'm sure they're excited for another brother to shove around."

Griff snorts. "I think I've had enough of rowdy little brothers." He smiles. "I kind of want a sister this time, you know? Not that I don't love the rest of them. But…"

Rickon stills and cannot hear the rest of Griff's words. He knows Griff didn't mean to mention sisters, didn't mean to pour salt into a wound that still gapes a year after her departure. Griff is from Braavos – a well-learned boy from a fairly well-to-do trader. He's the only one of his immediate group of friends who doesn't yet know that Rick from Flea Bottom is truly Prince Rickon Targaryen. And so, Griff does not know that Rickon has a sister who was hurt and sent away because she tried to protect him, and does not know that Rickon has a sister who he would die for. Rickon cannot stop the barrage of memories now. Rhae, showing him how to climb. Rhae, introducing him to Sam. Rhae, demanding Ser Arthur teach him swordplay. Rhae, defending him against Aegon and Jon and the King.

Rhae, the only person who ever loved him. ( _"I will not leave you here alone."_ )

Rhae, his best friend who was ripped away from him ( _"Promise me, Rickon. Promise me."_ )

Rickon's smile grows tight. "Ya, I hear sisters are the best."

 _("This is a secret between us, Rickon. You cannot ever tell a soul, do you understand me?"_ )

Rickon's fists clench as he remembers the bruise on her cheek from that night. As he remembers the pallor of her skin when the Maester said she would die in that godsforsaken bed.

_'They hurt her. They hurt her. They hurt her. How dare they lay a hand on-'_

"Rick!" Griff's hand on his shoulder shakes Rickon from his memories. Griff's brow furrows in concern. "You all right, mate?"

( _"One day, Rickon."_ )

 _'I will be.'_  Rickon smiles, forces his fists to unclench. "I am. Sorry, I was stuck in my head. What were you saying about—"

"Help! Someone, anyone, please help!" A stranger's wails steal the attention of both Rickon and Griff. "My dad! Help, please!"

Rickon and Griff race towards the yelling, where a small crowd already gathers. Rickon and Griff push their way through, and Rickon is surprised to recognize the person who was crying out.

 _'It's the boy from before,'_  Rickon realizes as he looks upon the redhead. He looks to the ground beside the boy, where his father is collapsed, one hand holding his chest and his breathing laboured.

Rickon steps forward. "We need to take him to a maester."

The boy looks at Rickon, confused before his eyes start tearing more. "We ain't no money fer one."

Rickon frowns, confused.  _'People pay for maesters?'_  The man on the ground gives another laboured groan and Rickon decides that his stray thought is a contemplation for another time. "I'll pay for it. Griff, you and two others need to help me take him and his father to the nearest maester."

Griff comes up, as do two volunteers from the crowd. Rickon addresses the crowd. "Where is the nearest Maester?" The prince is further confused when the crowd seems to have no clue, looking at him as if he has grown another head. Rickon grimaces when he hears another pain-filled moan from the man who is being hoisted up by Griff and the two volunteers from the still-growing crowd.

Rickon runs a hand through his matted hair, remembering Ser Arthur's laments about Rickon always finding trouble. He decides that maybe Ser Arthur is onto something after all. "Griff, I need you all to carry the man towards the Keep. Follow along the Hook, the right side of it. I'll run ahead to get a maester and bring him to meet you. Don't swerve off the Hook, or I won't be able to find you when I come back."

Griff, the boy, and the other two men nod.

.x.X.x.

Samwell jumps out of his seat with a unfortunately high-pitched squeal when Rickon barges into the Maester's Library, dressed in rags and gulping for air. "Rickon?! Wha—"

"You need to come with me, now." Rickon interrupts, chest heaving from exertion. "A man collapsed at Fishmonger's Square."

For all of Sam's infamous blundering, he is razor focused when it comes to the matters of others' wellbeing. "Tell me what happened?"

Rickon tells Sam what he knows as quickly as he can while trying to catch his breath, and Sam quickly gathers some tools before following Rickon through a set of tunnels.

Sam follows Rickon's quick pace, clearly trying his best to keep up. When they pass by one of the larger openings with a dozen or so branching hallways, Rickon has to pull a shell-shocked Sam out of his stupor. "Rickon, are you sure you know where we're going?"

Rickon bristles, and Sam admits that perhaps the question was poor form. " _Yes_. I know these tunnels like the back of my hand." (How can he not? They have been his favoured hiding place for years) "Now  _come on._ "

Sam nods and follows the prince, who now sets an even faster pace, out of the tunnels and onto the streets. They follow along the Hook until they see a red-haired man being carried by Griff, the two volunteers, and his teary-faced son.

Sam immediately takes charge, instructing the men to take his patient to the side of the path. They've gathered a bit of a crowd from the street, but Sam ignores it while examining the sickly man. Rickon even recognizes more than one of the viewers from the docks, and wonders exactly how many have followed to see the end of this adventure. Rickon frowns, noting that the man is now sweating and his breathing has grown even more laboured. The red-haired boy seems to notice his father's decline as well, and shudders before wiping some of the wet snot from his face.

**{How sad, another orphan in the making. And as always, you are useless as the people around you suffer.}**

Sam seems to have discerned the cause of the man's illness, because he nods to himself before shuffling through his box of Maester items. He quickly pulls out some sort of sharpened cannula. Sam instructs one of the volunteers to clean the man's chest with the wine from the other volunteer's belt. Then, Sam raises the needle, seeming intent on stabbing the man in the chest with it.

"NO!" Screams the redheaded boy, as he makes to lunge at Sam. Rickon stops the younger boy easily, holding him back with a firm grip. Sam turns to them, and Rickon nods. "Sam is the smarted person I know." He soothes the boy, loudly and clearly enough that the crowd can hear. "If he thinks this will save your father, I believe him."

The boy settles at Rickon's words. Seeing this, Rickon removes his arms from the boy's, and instead places a firm hand on his shoulder, looking the redhead right in the eye. "It will be okay."

And perhaps Rickon has no right to make that promise, perhaps it could be considered bating the Gods, but he trusts Sam almost as much as he trusts Rhae.

The needle sharp cannula pierces the man's chest, and the man gasps. Then, as though a miracle from the Gods, the man breathes and his body relaxes.

"I can breathe." He says hoarsely, weakly. He turns to Sam. "You… you saved me."

The Tarly boy smiles, blushing at the praise. "Not without the help of the rest of these good men."

"Father!" The boy yells out in relieved and unfettered glee, before quickly leaving Rickon's loosened grip to tightly hold his father's hand. "Thank you, milord maester sir. Thank you! Thank you!" His eyes are bright as he looks at a sheepish Sam, and then the redhead looks towards Rickon with such bright gratitude that Rickon is breathless.

Sam smiles at Rickon. "Nicely done, Your Grace. I—" Sam flinches as he stops himself.

Rickon's shoulders slump, and he internally groans.  _'Oh, Sam.'_

Not for the first time Rickon bemoans Sam's reflexive descent into formal address when surrounded by others. For half a second, he hopes that no one has heard, but of course the entire crowd is watching with rapt attention and listening with sensitized ears, including Sam's newest patient and the red-haired boy. The boy's look is now one of absolute reverence.

" _You're_  the  _prince_?" He asks in awe.

.x.X.x.

Of course, once the crowd realizes that Prince Rickon Targaryen is amongst them, they clamour for his attention. Rickon does his best to talk to them all, and tries to redirect their praises to Sam, Griff, and the two volunteers. Rickon, of course, has to voice his own apology to a dumbfounded Griff. The shocked blue-haired boy tries to bow before Rickon smacks him upside the head and tells him quietly, but genuinely, that "friends don't bow."

Griff grins before shaking his head. "I always knew you spoke too well for a street kid, but I never expected  _this._ "

Sam explains to his patient (whose name Rickon now knows to be Dale) and his son (Davon) that the condition called  _pneumothorax_ was common among men of their build. While Sam describes what to do if it ever happens again, how to balance the air for their lungs by letting it escape in between certain ribs, Rickon uses the moment to take the two volunteers to the side. He offers a genuine thank you to the two men who helped bring the patient along the Hook with Griff.

The two volunteers give him an odd sort of look, almost measuring, before introducing themselves as Anguy and Thoros. They share a meaningful look amongst themselves, before Thoros speaks. "Should you ever need assistance, my Prince, know that the Brotherhood will come to your aid."

Rickon tilts his head, confused. "The Brotherhood?"

"Aye," smirks Anguy. "Just a group of riff-raff who like to run around training in the forest. Started up during the last war." He continues. "Nothing formal or the like, but we've a few sharp eyes, well-aimed bows, and quick blades if you ever find yourself in need."

_("We will need allies, Rickon.")_

.x.X.x.

By the time Rickon and Sam start to make their way back to the imposing spires of the Keep, it is dusk and Sam has apologized about a hundred times.

"It's fine Sam," Rickon responds for the hundred-and-first time. He cuts off Sam's next deluge of apologies with a question. "They said they have to pay for maesters." Rickon frowns, voicing his prior concerns. "The people at the docks didn't even know where the nearest one was."

Sam nods, his expression somber. "Rickon, you and I both had the luxury and privilege to grow up in castles, which came with maesters at our beck and call. But these people, they don't live in castles. Honestly, there are many who probably don't even have a home at all."

"So who do they go to when they get sick?"

Sam shrugs, uncertain. "I suppose they try to take care of themselves. If they're lucky, they live near the Sept where the priests or silent sisters sometimes give a certain degree of care, though I'm not sure how well they are trained."

Rickon scowls, thinking of how such a circumstance almost made an orphan today.

(A boy without a father is a tragic thing, something both Rickon and Sam know too well)

"That isn't right," Rickon fumes.

Sam looks at the ground, with a grim gaze. "No. No, it really isn't."

.x.X.x.

Rickon feels guilty. He had used Flea bottom as an escape for years. He had treated their conditions as a… as a  _novelty_. All this time and he didn't register that while he returned to his amenities in the Keep, they continued to live in true destitution.

They  _died_ in destitution.

Rickon's face crumples in shame.  _'I treated their squalor like some pageant, one which I could dress up for, then leave whenever it was convenient.'_

The next time he goes to King's Landing to visit his friends, he asks them what they  _need._ The fact that their list ("food", "houses", "maesters", "less shit on the streets") comes out so easily and with little prodding makes Rickon feel worse.  _'How did I never think to ask before?'_

Rickon has to prioritize, of course, based on what he can actually accomplish. The first thing he does is use part of his own royal funds to start up a free community clinic once a week in Flea Bottom. Sam volunteers to serve in it. It surprises Rickon immensely when Maester Tarot also offers his services. Rickon is hesitant to trust the creepy man with the rippled chain, the one who (per Rhae), was instructed to let Rickon die for his gender so his infamous mother would live.

_("I chose your mother, and yet you breathe while she does not.")_

Unfortunately, the people don't have the luxury of Rickon declining the questionable maester's services for a personal grievance, and so Rickon bites his tongue and begrudgingly thanks the man with a rigid smile.

.x.X.x.

Rickon doesn't plan for his sponsorship of the clinic to be advertised, but somehow every peasant and noble learns of it.

(They hear about his involvement through the twittering of little birds, but Rickon won't realize that until many years later.)

* * *

 **She is a collector of secrets.**   **And for all the hushed whispers about Prince Aegon, she suspects Prince Jon might be just as terrible.**

* * *

After the arrow incident and the princess's removal, Prince Rickon Targaryen spends most of his time either in the courtyard training with Ser Dayne and the other knights, or in the streets of King's Landing wandering alongside his lowborn companions. It's unsurprising. Why shouldn't the youngest royal spend time with people who love him in all the ways his remaining family members don't?

Or so Wren thinks.

It is now a year and a half since Princess Rhaeny's departure. Wren knows, because it was just two years ago that she started her side services as a little bird to the Master of Whispers. After all, she is small and slight and quiet and plain-faced. Wren is the perfect shadow (even if she isn't the perfect cleaning wench). So she sees things and hears things, while staying unknown and unnoticed.

Invisible, she sees Prince Aegon's envy as he watches from an upper walkway as ten-year-old Rickon spars in the yard below, the other knights impressed as they cheer on the little Prince when he faces off against a squire. Ser Dayne, obviously, seems bubbling with pride.

She sees the way the eldest Prince's eyes narrow when Rickon  _wins._

She hears him order Prince Jon to challenge Rickon, to "remind him of his place."

She sees Rickon  _beat_  Jon, and watches the fury build in Aegon's eyes.

She hears the foreboding silence amongst the men, when Aegon challenges Rickon next.

She sees Ser Lewyn Martell attempt to distract Aegon with sparring against himself instead.

And of course, when Rickon astutely declines the heir's challenge, she hears Aegon taunt him about his dead mother.

("A coward for sure, just like your whore mother. A lifelong regret of mine; not being the one to send her to the Seven Hells. That credit belongs to you, perhaps the only usefulness you ever had.")

 _'He's clueless,'_  bemoans Wren,  _'to think Prince Rickon will interpret an insult to his mother as an insult to Lyanna Stark.'_

Then she – along with the entire courtyard – sees Rickon stiffen, turn, raise his blade, and  _beat_  Aegon in their spar with brutal effectiveness that has even Wren backing from the pillar she leant behind.

_'The boy is not yet eleven, is he truly so lethal already?'_

That afternoon, she hears the whispers alight amongst the court as they spread the hottest gossip like kindling. "Did you hear? The crown prince beaten in sparring by his  _youngest_ brother! A boy of  _ten._ "

Later in the evening, she hears Jon knock on Rickon's chambers. "I hear you know the tunnels well?"

_'Naïve boy, don't you dare follow the lure into such an obvious trap.'_

Wren sighs when the foolish child gives a tentative smile and follows Jon. The arrow incident taught him to stop trusting Aegon, but clearly did not completely erase his trust in his other brother. Or perhaps the youngest prince is really that desperate for the affection of his only full sibling? Especially now, with the princess long gone. Wren suspects someone will be dispatched to kill the princess sooner or later. Why else would the King have sent her away? Then again, with how much the North must hate Targaryens (not to mention betrothing the girl to a man who was the grandson of Hoster Tully and the namesake of the rebeller), perhaps the King is waiting for her intended to beat her and humiliate her first. Actually no, Wren bets the King will wait until the princess bears her husband a spare. It is easy to hide an assassination under the guise of childbirth. A simple lip of poison in between blood weeping and wails ricocheting off chamber walls. 

Wren is good at compartmentalization. She is good at dissociation, good at keeping emotional distance from the acts she sees and the acts she hears (it is a necessary adaption for little birds serving in this predator-infested jungle).

And yet…

Even she cannot withstand the stench of burning flesh, as Prince Jon and Prince Aegon  _brand_ their little brother. The young boy's wails echo in the tunnels, and her gut churns. She staves the bile creeping up her throat only because fear for her life outweighs her disgust. What would the older princes do to her if they discover the audience to their despicable act, given what they already do to their own  _blood_.

In between Rickon's sobs, she hears every one of Aegon's grievances towards the boy.

"Rhaenys was sent away because of you –  _you ruin everything_. You took her away from me when you were born and now you've had her sent away too."

"You're nothing but a bastard. Not a single Targaryen feature. You even burn. Why do you think father hates you so? Your whore mother cuckolded him, and he's too obsessed with the Dodger trollop to see you hang for it."

"Remember your place, bastard."

Young Rickon screams until he whimpers, and then there is silence.

 _'He screamed until he passed out,'_  realizes Wren, as she struggles to contain her nausea.

"Might as well leave him be." It's the first she's heard Jon speak since Rickon started wailing. "He'll get up sooner or later. No use wasting anymore of our time."

Perhaps Aegon agrees, as Wren hears two sets of footsteps leave the tunnels, thankfully in the direction opposite of where she hides.

When she is absolutely certain that the depraved duo are gone, she slowly approaches the prone form of the youngest prince _. 'So naïve. Mayhaps this time, it is a lesson you will remember.'_  Her own eyes burn as she examines the angry and ugly wound below his left knee. The child's quiet breaths come out in wounded, abrupt gasps.

She wonders which of his brother's held him down, and which held the burning blade to his leg.

(She notices that Rickon never walks without his own blade ever again.  _'At least he learned,'_  she thinks woefully.)

She never quite forgets the sounds of his screams.

* * *

**Jon doesn't realize it then, but one day in the future, when he finally reads buried words, this will be the day he regrets the most.**

* * *

_In the end, it is steadfast Balerion who finds Rickon and attempts to coax the prince awake. It is Balerion who finds Sam, and urges the maester into the tunnels, to help the boy escape his crypt._

_("I promise, Lya. I promise.")_

_But no, you see, perhaps that isn't quite right. There was a bird who saw and who heard, and who ran towards a cat and a spider the moment the predators left their carcass._

_"They called him bastard, said that was why he burned when they pressed the blade onto him," whispered the bird to the spider._

* * *

**_"I bet_** **things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won."**

* * *

Tansy, proud owner of the Peach, is thrilled that the Red Keep is hosting another tourney. Her business is always bolstered by the many Westerland and Riverland knights stopping by her establishment while on their way to the Goldroad. An influx of knights with deep pockets eagerly seeking a break from their horses and longing for feminine company.

The inn is currently bustling with drunken patrons and her dazzling peaches, but Tandy still easily overhears one of her girl's at the nearest table. Alyce, a buxom girl with a tenacity as fiery as her hair, is chatting with a pair of Riverland knights.

The redhead slowly trails her hand up the armoured arm of the taller of the two knights as she coyly inquires, "So, where're you  _fine_  Sers headin'?"

The taller one looks beguiled by her pretty smile, too enchanted to speak. His shorter friend clocks the back of his head, and laughs before answering Alyce. "Heading to King's Landing for Prince Jon's nameday celebrations. Same direction that I imagine these fellows-" (here the shorter knight makes a grand sweep of his arms, which wobble with the weight of liquor) "-are headed. There's to be a tourney."

Alyce tilts her head, playing at interested despite knowing the answers to all the questions she asks ( _'Drunk men tell all the same tales,'_  Tansy thinks with a snort.) "Prince Jon, is that the Targaryen son of the Wrecker Queen or the Stark son of hers?" she inquires, while signalling one of the Peach's serving girls to refill both mens' cups.

Both knights bark out loud, deep laughs. The taller finally finds his voice, which turns out to be more grizzly than his companion's. " _Stark_  son is right. I hear the Second Queen's younger boy has not a single Targaryen feature. Not one at all."

The shorter one continues. "Aye, I saw them both at the last tourney. The elder of the Wrecker Queen at least had the King's eyes, even his fair skin. And I even heard he was prone to the same bouts of melancholy the King was at his age. The younger lad though, he is  _all northern_ : dark hair, grey eyes, blunt words, and burgeoning broad build." He takes a big gulp of his newly refilled ale tankard before continuing. "They even say he spars as northerners do – all brutal efficiency and the like. Heard from the other knights on our way over that the boy apparently is able to beat either of his  _older_ brothers in a spar. I won't believe that 'till I see it with my own eyes though. The youngest can't be what, more than twelve years? Why, he's still green as grass."

Alyce nods, as if the shorter knight has imparted her with some great words of wisdom. She curls a finger by her pouting lips, her brows slightly furrowing as she wonders aloud in an aimless voice, "Hmm... How does a King love trueborn sons that come from two different mothers?"

The shorter one snorts. "I hear the King paid none but his daughter any mind, and even that is probably out of guilt given the princess's resemblance to Queen Elia."

The taller knight grows a bit quieter, and Tansy has to strain a bit to hear his gruff voice over the cacophony of the other patrons. "I hear the King completely ignores his youngest, has ignored him since the lad was a babe. Blames him for the death of the Second Queen. Some say the King doubts the boy is even his, but doesn't name him bastard out of respect for the boy's mother."

"What about Queen Elia's son - what have you heard about the heir?" Alyce frowns. "I hear some… whispers…" she trails off.

"Aye," the taller knight replies, though both knights' expressions darken. "I bet we've all heard the same."

Alyce sneers. "Targaryen madness, the lot of them.  _I bet_  things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won, and the Wrecker Queen did us all the favour o' dying in the birthing bed in her damned Dornish Tower."

The knights don't disagree, even the taller one, who respected the crown just enough to say 'Second' Queen even when drunk.

Tansy supposes she should be reprimanding the effusive girl, but honestly, she doubts anyone in the entire brothel disagrees. And if there is one thing that fills her coffers, it's regret.

* * *

**Many years before Rhaenys was shipped to Dorne, there was another girl who was forced from King's Landing too.**

**(only she was a lowborn bastard. And players in the game have no use for the ones without expensive blood.)**

* * *

She had liked working at the Peach, but then she'd gotten pregnant with the Rebeller's son.

She ran to her old post at The Cony the moment she realized she was pregnant. The old man who ran the joint had liked her well enough when she'd worked there as a girl, and he had been childhood friends with her late father. And then when her precious little boy was born, she stayed working at that tavern at the edge of King's Landing for as long as she could.

In the days she worked as a tavern wench, and in the nights she prayed. She had prayed  _every single night_  to  _every single one_  of the Seven that her sweet Gendry would grow out of his looks.

He didn't.

So a sennight after she hears about the branding of Shireen Baratheon, she leaves the tavern under the cover of the night. She saved enough money to reach the Riverlands at least, and she was sure she could once more join the roster amongst the Peach. Whores made more coin than tavern wenches anyways. (She doesn't want to raise her son at a brothel, but the boy's trademark cobalt eyes and ink-black hair leave her with no choice but to run from King's Landing.)

She gets just past the gate when she is approached by a round man with sharp eyes.

"Surely you understand what will happen should anyone know the truth of his parentage?" Says the rotund man who blends with the shadows.

"It's why I'm takin' him away from here," she hisses, pushing nearly three-year-old Gendry behind her leg.

"I could give him a place here. Even give him to a master who would teach him a trade. An apprenticeship. A much better life than you could ever offer him."

"I know well enough what fancy speakin' men like you give. You wan' him so you can give him to the King, another blue-eyed babe for the sick bastard to brand. Well _fuck off._ My son is comin' with me."

* * *

**one does what one must**

* * *

The blond haired tavern wench dies in her sleep at an inn three days out from King's Landing. A wailing Gendry is taken back to King's Landing by two birds, where he is dropped off at Master Mott's doorstep. Varys had already discussed and paid for the boy's apprenticeship, well aware that he would find a way to ensure that Robert Baratheon's oldest boy stayed on the board.  _Especially_ until he discerned the natures of the potential Targaryen heirs.

The Spider really hadn't wanted it all to come to such an end for the girl, having a personal distaste for small folk being turned into collateral, but the stubborn tavern wench left him no choice.

_'Alas, one does what one must for the security of the Realm.'_

* * *

**"No one will hurt me here."**

* * *

"Please, Uncle Renly. I  _implore_ you. Leave me off to the library so I might avoid all their pointing and whispers. This library of the Red Keep is said to be second only to the Citadel's!"

" _Implore_?" Renly raises a fine brow at the elaborate word choice from his young niece as they walk arm-in-arm between the tents lining the tourney grounds. "Such a complex vocabulary for such a small child. Well it's reassuring that Maester Cressen is doing his due diligence at Storm's End, despite you seeming to prefer the company of backwater smugglers."

His neice petulantly removes her arms from his, then steps right in front of him, hands at her hips. " _Ser_  Davos is a  _knight_ ," she says with all the license of a girl of twelve namedays.

"Yes, yes, yes." Renly half-heartedly concedes, with a leisurely wave of his good hand. "I've heard the same from your father. Now come along." He once more offers her his arm, only to face a wall of pure Baratheon pig-headedness.

"And I am two and ten, not some babe."

"In age perhaps, but you're still just as short as one."

"I am  _not_  short. And stop trying to distract me, Uncle!"

"Is that what I'm doing, dear niece?"

She rolls her blue eyes, before a mischievous glint lightens them. "I believe I saw Ser Loras just around the corner we passed not thirty paces ago. Isn't he the acquaintance from the Reach that you still write to? You should let me escape to the library so you might enjoy your time in the capital as well."

Renly stiffens, no longer in a teasing mood. He feels his own blue eyes narrow as he heatedly whispers. "There is no such thing as an acquaintance from  _the Reach_ , Shireen. Mace Tyrell starved us in our own home during the war. Let the Seven Hells take them all."

" _Uncle_!" Shireen hisses. He feels her hurriedly grab his arm before pulling them both to the side of the path. She looks about carefully, making sure no one else on the tourney grounds overhead his subversive words. Luckily, it's only their own Ser Bronn and Ser Gilbert Farring within hearing distance.

Renly knows better. He  _should_  know better. And the reprimanding look from old Ser Farring says the same.

But Renly can't help but be on edge. The last time he was in this godsforsaken city, he was a boy of six years being held back by the  _noble_ Kingsguard as Stannis screamed, before Renly was held down and forced to feel and hear his own skin sizzle from a scorched blade. So no, he will  _not_  entertain Shireen's requests to be left to the library – left alone in this den of dragons. In truth, Renly did  _not_ want to come. At all. Let alone bring Shireen into this den of mad dragons. Unfortunately for him, his brother and Tywin Lannister thought it "imperative" to give some sort of appearance at Prince Jon's nameday tourney – one of the few opportunities that families from all the kingdoms were represented at King's Landing. And so, he found himself leading troops from both the Stormlands and the Westerlands. Said joint forces were probably an idea of Tyrion's, to show that their niece had the support of both kingdoms despite her gender. Regardless, the politics were beyond him. He just did as his brother bid. In fact, that had been the  _only_ reason he even affected friendship with any of the Reachmen. It was the only reason he tolerated being sent to the Reach so soon after what happened to Cersei.

_("Protect her. You have to protect her. My daughter and my son. You must protect them.")_

He apologizes to his niece easily, running a hand over her black locks. As he does so, the yellow trim at his wrist catches on the sharp end of the half-mask that covers her entire left cheek _. 'An extravagant gift from her grandfather.'_  He knows.  _'Something to cover Rhaegar's cruelty, to remind everyone just who he dared harm.'_

And yet, despite the mask engraved with thick and expensive golden filigree, he still hears the whispers that follow her.

"Traitor's blood."

"Poor girl, scarred for life."

"Lady Cersei's daughter. A pity, to lose one's mother in such a horrid way."

"Such a shame, what happened to Lady Cersei. A greater shame that the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms lives with such an unsightly face."

 _'She shouldn't have to endure these vultures,'_  he seethes as he inwardly curses both Stannis and Tywin for putting Shireen through this charade. His grip on her arm tightens, and Shireen gives him a soft look.

"Please relax, no one will hurt me here."

At her words, Renly gives a pointed look to the left side of her face and then a sharp look to his own left hand.

She shakes her head, keeping her voice low so only he can hear. "You deserve happiness too. Even if it's someone from the Reach. Even if it's the son of Mace Tyrell. We shouldn't blame others for the actions of their fathers." She gently removes her arm from his.

Renly sighs.  _'She truly is the heart of Storm's End.'_  For all the turmoil his sort-of relationship with Loras causes him, in so many ways, it is everything to have the support of at least one member of his own family. He smiles at her as he crouches down to meet her gaze. "I wonder how such a sweet creature comes from my stern brother."

"I imagine growing up with you and Uncle Tyrion had something to do with it." She gives a playful grin, one that reminds him of Jaime Lannister.

Renly smirks. "Hmm, too true. We can thank Tyrion for your wit, and myself for your good humor."

Shireen brings a finger to her chin in mock-consternation. "And who am I to credit for my  _unseemly bawdy jokes_? And for my love of  _frivolous fabrics_?"

They both smile at her teasing imitation of her father's well-known and well-advertised criticisms of both Tyrion and himself.

Renly rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Go on then, you sharp-tongued menace, before you poke your own eye out and I change my mind."

She rushes to give him a hug, before she makes to prance off towards the castle, no doubt in search of its fabled library.

And yet, the moment he sees her back, doubt once more overcomes Renly.

(" _Protect her. You have to protect her."_ )

So Renly pulls her back once more, his voice thick. "You'll be… vigilant?"

Shireen sighs with a strained smile. " _Yes._  You've warned me, Uncle Tyrion's warned me, Uncle Jaime's warned me, Father has been warning me daily for the last moon turn, and Grandfather even explicitly  _ordered_  it of me."

To a degree, Renly understands her exasperation with all the sheltering men in her life. "I know I'm over-protective; we all are." Himself, Tyrion, Jaime, Stannis, Lord Tywin, even that up-jumped smuggler that holds his brother's esteem. Every adult in her life need only look at her face to be reminded of what had happened to her, of the constant threat that both her name and her blood place her in.

(It is not the first time that Renly curses Lyanna Stark's name, and prays she rots in the Seven Hells for her role in Robert's death. And for her role in all the horrors that his family continues to endure, all because that selfish oath-breaker wanted to play dress up with a crown.)

Ironically, it is because of that same horrible mark on Shireen's cheek that Renly gets to keep his darling niece for a bit longer. The Baratheon is well aware of the fact that at twelve years of age, and a child of two Great Houses, she would normally (at most) been only a few short years away from betrothal. A few short years from being sent from his protection to another's. However, the mark – both for its appearance and what it symbolizes (the crown's displeasure, a constant target on their families) – had the one good outcome of keeping power-hungry suitors at bay. After all, Shireen was currently both heiress to Storm's End and granddaughter of the richest man in The Seven Kingdoms.

Seeing the beseeching look in her eyes, Renly can hold out no longer. He offers her a tired nod of acceptance, loosening his hold just enough for her to laugh in delight ( _'and gods, but she truly has her mother's laugh'_ ) as she drags a hesitant Ser Farring forward towards the Red Keep's gates.

"Little Lady's got you by the balls, doesn't she?"

"Fuck off, Bronn. Do what Tyrion pays you to do, and look after my niece."

Bronn shrugs insouciantly, before making to swagger away and follow his charge. With an abrupt grip, Renly pulls the man back roughly by the shoulder, close enough that the skilled sellsword can hear the seriousness of his quiet, but vehement, orders. "And don't you dare let a single dragon come near her, do you understand?"

* * *

**Their first meeting is a collision**

* * *

_"You are part of the Lannister Legacy. You bow to no one. You fear no one. Do you understand?"_

Despite her Grandfather's words, Shireen is very much afraid of very many things.

The thing she fears worst is her past self – the girl capable of harming her own family. But she's been trying to not think about that so much anymore (after all, those dark thoughts already steal her nights, she refuses to let them consume her days as well).

Another thing she fears for is the safety of her remaining family, which is why she so desperately pleaded permission to retreat to the Red Keep's library as soon as possible. She heard the King was obsessed with prophecies, and so knew he would likely be in his private research tower with his infamous ripple-chained maester.  _Not_  in the library. She heard that the princes were all soldiers, so they'd likely be out in the tourney grounds.  _Not_  in the library.

So being in the Keep's main library, Shireen knows, is the best way to avoid dragons.

(They'll recognize her too easily, whether by mask or scar. And if they call her forward, Uncle Renly will get himself and their bannermen killed trying to deny them. And she'll not cause the death of another member of her family, not again. Not ever again.)

It's lonely in the library, but that's okay. _'I'm used to being lonely.'_

She frowns at her gloomy thoughts, reprimanding herself.  _'I shouldn't sound so ungrateful.'_  Back in Storm's End, she has her father, Renly, Davos, Uncle Tyrion who visits frequently, as well as her Grandfather and Uncle Jaime who she visits fairly regularly as well.

 _'My father loves me, truly, I know.'_  Davos even tells her so, repeatedly. But her Lord father is… stern. (Davos offers her reasons for that too: "sweet girl, sometimes you just remind him too much of your mother.") She knows she should feel grateful for all she has… but sometimes… sometimes it feels like the only true confidants she has are Davos and her Uncles.  _'And even to them, I am a burden.'_  She thinks morosely, thinking on how sometimes – when she laughs – Uncle Jaime acts as though looking upon her is the most painful thing he's ever done.

Storm's End is lonely. She should have ladies-in-waiting to keep her company, but her father has refused her request for them enough times for her to stop asking. ("He just wants to make sure you aren't unduly influenced by anyone, my Lady," explains Davos.) She doubts that is the whole reason. She suspects that at least part is because they worry the other Stormlander ladies would be repulsed by the very sight of her. Even now, she had initially been so excited to attend Prince Jon's tourney. With her new golden mask covering the heinous scar, she thought people would accept her. She thought she might make a  _friend._  But instead, they still mock her behind their hands. They still recoil from her when she approaches. It is as if trying to hide the scar only drew more attention to it, and that veiling it only let the other ladies intensify its gruesomeness in their minds.

She doesn't know why she thought the mask would make a difference. Even when she visits Casterly Rock, the ladies there only address her when her Uncle or Grandfather are watching. (Worse still is her Aunt Lysa, who stares at Shireen with suspicious eyes and takes every opportunity that they are alone to angrily remind Shireen that the Rock belongs to her own future child, not "Cersei Lannister's spawn.")

Shireen shakes away the unpleasant thoughts of her increasingly unhinged aunt and focuses instead onto the covers of the many books lining the shelves.

 _'It truly is incredible,'_  admires Shireen.  _'The amount of history and knowledge and stories – all collected into this one place. I could spend a lifetime here, and probably not finish every tome.'_

She skims over the titles in admiration.  _The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling_  by Grand Maester Munkun,  _The Rogue Prince_  by Archmaester Gyldayn, and even  _Rhaenyra Targaryean: the Queen who Challenged a Dynasty_. She adds them all to her mental reading list, but what she more truly searches for is one piece that even Uncle Tyrion has lauded and cited secondhand, but has yet to snag his own copy of. Unfortunately, it is a novel that her own father would never allow within Storm's End, let alone her hands. She is hoping that the Red Keep's renowned library might possess one of the last intact copies of  _The Testimony of Mushroom_.

To her disappointment, she cannot find the book, nor can she find a maester or library hand to help her sift through the great number of shelves designated just for the histories. Of course she knew she was alone in the large space from the very beginning, when Ser Farring and Ser Bronn made a grandly  _unnecessary_  show of scouting and clearing the area before standing guard outside its sole entrance. After hours of searching, a resigned Shireen resolves to sate one of her other curiosities and heads towards the area with the maps and geography scopes.

_'Uncle Tyrion mentionned there were secret passages, tunnels, false walls, and even trapdoors all built within the castle all the way through to Aegon's High Hill. There must be some record of them, or a map at least.'_

After her hunting and gathering is complete, Shireen has a tower of books and three rolled up maps barely staying upright in her arms. They're covering her line of sight, so she isn't entirely surprised when she turns a corner and crashes into something, resulting in her pile (as well as herself) toppling to the ground.

It isn't until she feels another body overtop of her, that she comes to the mortifying realization that she didn't crash into something, but rather, some _one._

An apology is already half way out her lips when she meets his surprisingly-close-to-her grey eyes. In an attempt to avoid direct contact with the unknown male's gaze, her line of sight lands on the silver circlet around his head of dark brown tousled locks, and then to her growing terror, the blood-red Targaryen crest on his black doublet.

( _"I hear the youngest Targaryen looks entirely northern. So just avoid broody, dour acting folk and you should be alright! Those are the types to avoid when having any fun, after all."_  Teased Uncle Tyrion, before she left Storm's End.)

Prince Rickon Targaryen.

She is underneath a  _Targaryen_.

 _'How did he get past Ser Bronn and Ser Farring!?'_  Shireen's heart races, her palms sweat. She wants to call for her guards, but her throat closes in terror. And to her utmost horror, her mask has fallen off. Her grey scar is visible. So are her trademark hair and eyes, and  _of course_ her stupidly chosen yellow gown lined in black. She sees her name flash across his eyes the moment he realizes who she is; her chest tightens.

_'I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.'_

* * *

_'Shireen Baratheon.'_

He identifies her almost immediately, the scar easily putting a name to her face.

He notes her discomfort almost as quickly as he recognizes her. He feels his own cheeks warm as he realizes he is literally laying  _astride_  her (Rhae would have his head if she saw him like this, draped over a lady of a Great House).

He abruptly rises off of her, and in some misguided attempt to help her shocked form stand as well, ends up pulling her into his chest, to which she responds by violently shoving herself away from him. It's reflex when he reaches out his left hand to grab her arm again, steadying her so that she doesn't once more meet the floor from the momentum of her push.

He feels the tension through his grip on her forearm. She's frozen, her eyes locked to the ground.

 _'She's… scared?'_  Rickon finally comprehends, though he is perplexed as to why. He is about to ask, when his gaze is drawn again to the infamous mark on her face. It's unconscious curiosity – truly – when Rickon raises his right arm. He abandons all semblance of propriety when he uses a finger from his free hand to trace the smooth grey scarring on the girl's left cheek. The silvery wound spans from the cheekbone under her eye to her chin in height. In width, it runs from beside her lips nearly all the way to beside her ear. Though, it appears to be far enough away from her mouth and eyes that it doesn't seem to restrict her expressions.

She flinches her face away from his touch, and his frown deepens when she leans back. "Does it hurt?" He asks calmly.

Shireen looks even more petrified when she meets his gaze, and almost immediately her blue eyes dart back down to the carpet. "…No," she lets out with a quiet voice, softer than a whisper.

Rickon uses his full hand then, palming her cheek. She does nothing, as his fingers border along the edge of the traitor's brand. He lowers his voice. "My father did this to you?" It's more a statement than a question. "When you were just a child, not even a year old."

Shireen finally steps away, eyes widening as she hurries to respond. "His Grace was merciful to my family. A traitor's brand was justice for my uncle's treachery."

Rickon notices that the words flow together too easily, and recognizes the well-practiced lines.  _'She's not just scared of my name,'_  Rickon realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut.  _'She is scared of me. Scared that I will harm her, and face no repercussions just because of who are families are. Because of the crown on my head_.  _We're alone, and she thinks I'm going to use the chance to hurt her._ '

Rickon knows exactly what it is to be scared of someone with more power than you – someone who will face no justice, not even a word of reprimand, for harming you. He makes his decision then, as he leans down to the side and begins to pull up the right leg of his trousers. Shireen looks confused, before blushing bright red and turning her face to the side. "Your Grace!" She squeals, "you can't just - this isn't - this is hardly prop–"

Rickon snorts. "I'm sure the virtue of my leg is safe with you, my Lady. Now come on, take a look, there is a point to this."

.x.X.x.

Her curiosity truly is a powerful thing for it to outweigh her fear in that moment. When she finally looks down, she notes the stark mark on his left leg. Her eyes widen, and she is unable to hold back her gasp. "Oh! Oh my. W-what is that?"

It is an ugly thing, a mottled scar that runs almost a hand's length up the lateral side of his calf. It looks like a knife of some sort was used to burn it into his skin. It is as wider than three finger-breadths. And the way the thick cord of scar juts outward, with tight and tiny spider-like branches along its edges, suggests that the wound was quite deep.

Shireen shakes her head and tries compose herself like she knows her grandfather would tell her to do. "How did you get such a wound?" She finally asks, as her gaze slowly returns to his face. Shireen knows the jagged cut cannot be from training, no knight would ever dare harm a prince so gruesomely. And she's pretty sure there have been no assassination attempts or anything of the like towards the royal family. (If there had been, there is no doubt in her mind that her family would have toasted over it.)

The prince's expression twists, his slate eyes darken, and his mind seems to go to place outside the wooden doors barring the library. "A ' _bastard's brand'_  according to my brother. I guess he learned that branding was a form of 'justice' from my father. I learned to not best my brothers in sparring quite quickly after this." He offers a bitter smile, eyes blank. "One held me down and the other carved the mark with a heated blade."

Shireen is curious, and her own courtesies have clearly left her, chased away by the prince's own easy familiarity. She bends down and stretches out her hand to follow the meandering of the scar. Her finger tips easily feel it's angry ridges. ' _What hate._ ' She shivers. ' _What kind of person is capable of doing something so violent to their family? To a younger sibling?'_

_(Like a blaze, her errant thoughts set alight a memory from her own past, and she realizes she is the last person to judge another for harming one's younger brother.)_

The prince's words grab her attention, as she tilts her head back up to meet his soft gaze. "I know what it is to fear someone who will face not even a tongue-lashing for harming you because of their  _position_. Trust me, my Lady. No harm to you will ever come from me."

With a start, she realizes that his words are sincere. Purely, wholly sincere. And with that honest vow, with their shared shy smiles, Shireen Baratheon begins to trust Rickon Targaryen.

* * *

**(This meeting is the resurrection of revolution. They just don't know it yet.)**

* * *

After such heavy words, there is a heavier pause. And then, with zero care for the somber atmosphere, the Prince flippantly tilts a brow towards the pile of tomes and unravelling maps gracing the ground.

"So what are you researching?"

Shireen's eyes widen as she realizes the mess her clumsiness made. After replacing her mask, she quickly bends down to collect the scattered items. She is surprised when she sees the Prince kneel to do the same. They are both making their way to the nearest table with half an arm's full by the time she responds.

"I couldn't find the book I was searching for initially, so I tried to find books about the hidden tunnels." She carefully places her books onto the desk. "But there weren't any obvious ones, so I tried to find some about the architecture of the Red Keep, to see if I could work out the locations of the passages on my own."

The royal grimaces. "Seems dull," he says nonchalantly as he haphazardly drops the aged books onto the table.

 _'The nerve!'_  Shireen, now more than mildly affronted, cannot help the way her pitch rises. "It is not  _dull_!'

Like a smack to the face, she realizes her own audacity in speaking to a  _prince_  in such a brazen manner. A  _Targaryen._ Embarrassed, pulse racing, she hurriedly looks to the floor while apologizing. She inwardly curses Uncle Jaime thrice over for letting her get away with every outburst of indignation she's ever had at his jests towards her scholarly pursuits.

And then, the Prince, he… he…

He  _pokes_ her forehead.

She brings a hand up to spot, dazed at his benign reaction to her insolence.

He grins. "Why waste time reading about the tunnelways, when you could be exploring them?"

She frowns. "Well how would I explore them without getting lost if I haven't read about them?"

The Prince rolls his grey eyes, his tone almost condescending. "Getting lost  _is_  exploring."

Shireen huffs, hands on her hips. "That sounds like the same  _lackadaisical_  drivel my Uncle Jaime spouts when he doesn't want to do his research." (She's quite proud of herself for using  _lackadaisical_  had just learned the term last week from Uncle Tyrion.)

The chestnut haired boy smirks, clearly choosing to take her reprimand as a compliment. "Besides, no book will tell you about the secret tunnels. King Maegor had the plans – and the builders – burned."

 _'Surprise, surprise, a Targaryen burning the innocent.'_  Shireen swallows her bitter thoughts, refusing to let them slip through her teeth. Not only does this confusing but so-far-not-cruel prince not deserve her ire yet, but she doubts he will remain so pleasant towards her if she openly insults his House. She settles for a relatively neutral response. "Well, that hardly seems an adequate payment for their services."

"I doubt that's what you actually wanted to say," he snorts. "You know, if you truly want to explore through the tunnels…" He pauses, his internal deliberation obvious. "I know them well enough. You seem a good enough sort. If it was just you, only you, I could take you throu—"

A loud knock on the entrance blares between the shelves, interrupting his offer.

"Little Lady, are you about done reading your books? Ser Farring won't stop blathering my ear off about lessons that you apparently  _just can't_ be late for. Do help me, lest I go deaf from his jabbering."

"Just a moment!" She calls to her guards while looking at the Prince, signalling with her hands for him to wait. She quickly goes around the shelves towards the entrance.

She cracks open the heavy door to see her steadfast guards, and smiles. "Just a few more minutes to finish my chapter, please. Then you can escort me to my tents so I can dress properly for my lessons."

After ensuring the door is closed, she returns to the brown-haired royal with an eager bounce to her gait. With each step, she grows increasingly excited by his promise of adventure, increasingly excited to be near someone her age who actually wants to spend time with her, and who doesn't recoil from her face. "Your Grace, I would really, really like to explore those tunnels. I- I'll be here tomorrow. Likely around the same time, if… if you'd… if you want… that is, if Your Grace wants to…" She hesitates when she sees his confused frown, fearing she overstepped. Perhaps she misinterpreted his earlier offer?

Then he grins, scratching the back of his head. "If you'll be here, I'll be here too. I can show you the back entrance to the library first, in case you ever need it. It's how I entered today, actually. It's one of the entrances into the tunnelways. But, on one condition." Before she has the chance to fear his stipulation, he pokes her forehead again. "You call me Rickon."

She smiles as she pushes his outstretched hand away from her face. Joy overcoming propriety, she replies, "only if you call me Shireen."

 

**{Silly girl. If only you knew what this boy's affection will cost you.}**

 

"My ears, Little Lady, my  _ears._ "

Shireen rolls her eyes at Ser Bronn's dramatics from the other side of the door, and Rickon grins. "See you tomorrow then,  _Shireen_."

* * *

**Their first meeting is a collision**

**(though it is years before the Realm will feel the aftershocks)**

**_and yet in the moments leading up to final quake, there are small tremors of change_ **

* * *

During the two weeks of the tourney, they spend multiple hours a day chasing after each other in the tunnels.

It's the most fun Shireen has  _ever_  had. She rarely gets to be so carefree, to indulge in acting her age, and she suspects the same is true for him.

-x-

Bal (surprisingly) takes to her right away.

 _'Bal doesn't even let Sam pet him as she does,'_ observes Rickon with no small amount of confusion.

"He might just like you better than me," Rickon teases, playfully whining with a putout air.

He crosses his arms, and Shireen responds by giggling brightly as Balerion licks her cheeks.

He steps closer to the duo that accompanied him into the eastern part of the tunnels. "You know, I was looking for him the other day, when I found you," he says.

**_{'Liar, liar.'}_ **

Rickon waves at Bal, signaling for the cat to return to him.

"Hmm, I was wondering what you were doing in the library that day. Especially since you left without a book." She smiles when Balerion ignores Rickon's beckoning to instead pounce into her arms. She tosses a smug look towards an increasingly befuddled Rickon.

"Traitor." The prince mock-accuses.

He decides he quite likes the sound of her laughter.

_'It's warm and it's kind, just like her.'_

-x-

"What was the book you wanted again?" It is the third day, and he is showing her the beginnings of the southern tunnels.

"What do you mean?" She says, a cute confused look upon her face.

Rickon continues. "On the first day we met, you said you were looking for a book, but you couldn't find it. Remember? You said that was why you started researching the tunnels instead."

"Oh! Yes, you're right.  _The Testimony of Mushroom_. One of my uncles always quotes it. It's referenced and sourced in many other tomes, but even my uncle has yet to acquire a copy of the book itself."

"Hmm. Isn't that the history written by that fool dwarf?"

"There is nothing wrong with being short!"

Rickon raises his hands in a soothing gesture. "Calm down, I didn't mean it like—"

"My Uncle Tyrion is a dwarf, and he is the smartest man I know," Shireen storms on proudly, barreling over his attempted explanation. "Well, him and Maester Cressen." She amends.

Rickon smirks as he turns them down a corner, the one leading to the branch point they can use to reach the dragon pit. "Well I bet your uncle isn't half as smart as my friend Sam. Even if he is half the height."

Shireen whacks the prince's arm, feeling the need to defend her family even from his innocent ribbing. "Uncle Jaime told me that once my grandfather was  _so_  angry at Uncle Tyrion, that he put my uncle in charge of all of the drains and cisterns at Casterly Rock as punishment. And you know what Uncle Tyrion did? He did such a good job, that even  _my_  father hired him to fix the sewers at Storm's End! That's how smart he is. He's smart enough to turn anything around." Shireen frowns, facing Rickon with a serious expression. "Just because he was born a dwarf doesn't mean he is anything less."

"Like I was trying to say," he pauses with a pointed look, and Shireen feels her cheeks catch aflame. "I just meant that I was taught that Mushroom was a  _known_  fool – as in the  _position_. And as a  _known fool,_ who was loyal to only Rhaenyra, I don't know why you'd put much stock in his version of events."

"I like to think every story deserves to be heard."

"Well you might not hear this one." Rickon shrugs. "Sam told me that Baelor I had most of the copies of Mushroom's book burned. I doubt there's even a copy left in our library." Rickon smirks at her. "Too  _salacious,_ according to Sam."

Shireen bites her tongue on hearing about yet another Targaryen with an affinity for burning innocent things. For all that Rickon seems to hate his brothers and father, his sister who he adores is a Targaryen by birth too. Instead of telling him exactly how apropos it is for his ancestors to set alight good things, she frowns and teases. "Do you even  _know_  what salacious means."

Rickon flushes, defensive. "Well, it can't mean anything good can it? If even the  _saintly_ Baelor thought them so bad!"

Shireen snickers. She's overheard Uncle Tyrion use the term enough times to know  _exactly_  what it means.

"Well then, lady know-it-all? Do tell?"

This time it is Shireen's turn to flush. There is no way she is explaining the meaning of that word to a  _boy._ She shakes her head.

Rickon counters by reaching out and yanking on an unbound strand of her hair.

Shireen yelps, smacking his hand away. " _Ow_! What was that for?!"

Rickon shrugs playfully, before he turns and runs down the nearest tunnel. "Catch me if you can!" He goads over his shoulder.

"Oh you!" Shireen yells, before once more chasing him through the winding paths.

**{look at that girl, he's already practicing how to hurt you then leave you.}**

-x-

They alternate between talking and games. Using the tunnels, he shows her the dragon pit, and even leads her to a private bank of Blackwater Bay. They chase each other through the hidden underground paths for hours and hours, and crash into each other more than once.

It is on the sixth day that they crash so hard, the gift from her grandfather flies off her face.

Rickon retrieves it for her in apology, and when he goes to give it to her, he pulls his hand away before she can grab the mask. He offers her face a funny look she can't quite decipher, which serves to augment every insecurity about herself she's ever had. Her hands clench at her sides in shame. In that moment, she has never hated her scar more.

She expects some sort of flippant comment about how it's a good thing she has something to cover the hideousness of her face.

Instead, he gives a quiet, "you don't need it, you know."

Her insecurities flare. She stutters, bringing her hand to cover the burn reflexively.

He frowns, pulling her hand away from her face. "At least with me. I know the other nobles here for the tourney can be cruel. But you don't have to wear the mask with me. You look just fine without it."

This time, it's her cheeks that flare.  _'And he's still holding my hand!'_

(the next day, she puts the mask in her lady's satchel after she enters the library. Rickon smiles when he sees her.)

-x-

"What did you read today?" Asks Ser Farring, as he guides her towards Septa Saranella's sewing lessons.

" _The Age of Heroes_  by Grandmaester Arlow." The lie slides so easily off her lips. She knows that neither he nor Ser Bronn suspect a thing.

"You spend so much time reading, and you'll go blind!" Teases Ser Bronn.

"And are you familiar with the perils of over-reading, Ser Bronn?" Shireen inquires with a pointed brow and a burgeoning smile.

Ser Bronn laughs loudly. Even Ser Farring cracks a smile at her barb.

Neither tell her to forgo the library to join the festivities. She's glad for that, at least. She spends her days with Rickon, learning the tunnels and sharing stories. She eats breakfast with her bannermen, spends a few hours with her Septa for lessons, and then she meets her Uncle for a private dinner in the Baratheon tents. Her days are perfect as they are. But she knows that's not why her guards don't encourage her to be more social.  _'They're probably just relieved that I'm doing something so benign as holing myself up in the library, and not running about places that Targaryens can see me.'_

She has only been required to attend three large public events. And more than once during them, she felt the burning gaze of the white-haired prince. Both her, as well as the entire Baratheon and Lannister retinue, were subject to his repeated angry glares. There is no attempt at subtlety; she even sees Prince Aegon frown when Uncle Renly makes it to the quarter-finals of the jousting tournament.

Rickon, however, was never in the Targaryen box at the events. Neither was the King, at least to the three events she was required to attend. It seemed to only be Prince Jon and Prince Aegon representing their House. She notes that, though it is Prince Jon's nameday tourney, Prince Aegon sits in the primary seat of their family's red and black box.

(It isn't until many years later that she realizes Rickon spent his time wafting between noble houses, endearing himself to their heirs and their Lords.)

-x-

The entire tournament is going so well. Undeniably, his favourite part is the time he spends with Shireen Baratheon.

It's at the very end of the tenth day when Rickon says something that almost ruins it.

He mentions her mother. It's an innocuous comment, and he doesn't even remember how the topic came up.

But when he says it, she looks at him with such angry confusion.  _'How could you not know?!'_  Her wounded expression seems to scream. Rickon wonders if his father did something to her mother too, when she instead quietly whispers her response.

"My mother is… unwell. She has been unwell for a while."

He opens his mouth to tell her that it's okay, that he's sorry for bringing up something that clearly causes her so much pain, but she's already turning her back to him.

"I have to leave." She says coolly.

Rickon gapes at her tone and her obvious lie. "But your lessons aren't for another two hours!" And he knows they are, it's how it has been every single day. And she never leaves him before she has to, not ever.

"Well, they're earlier today. I'll see you tomorrow." In his stupefied shock, Rickon lets her walk away.

That night, he tosses and turns. He suspects she was lying about seeing him on the morrow. In fact, Rickon suspects his careless question poisoned their friendship, and his gut swirls with regret. He turns once more, his hands claw into the cloth of his pillows.  _'It's fine. It will be fine.'_ He tells himself. _'I'll find a way to make her forgive me.'_

-x-

When Shireen enters the library on the eleventh day, she finds her new friend agitatedly pacing in the shelves with the books on lineages. When he sees her, his taut shoulders sag in relief, and he grins brightly despite the bruised creases under his eyes.

At his reaction, she realizes that he suspected she wouldn't come, that she would abandon him. The realization exacerbates her already brimming guilt. She'd thought on it all last night and this morning, how unfair their friendship was. Rickon had opened up to her the very first time they met, had told her something deeply personal and painful for him. And here she was, eleven days into the only true friendship she has ever had, and she has not revealed anything of consequence in return.

_("A Lannister always pays their debts.")_

She wants to show him that she trusts him.

She wants him to stay her friend, to not think of her as someone who will take  _and take and take,_ but run when she is expected to give.

She could tell him a great many things to fill her debt to him. And yet, last evening, the nightmares of her past mistakes allowed her no respite, and she suspects they never will if she doesn't reveal her nature to this boy who so genuinely offered her his friendship.

**{He won't want friendship once he knows who you truly are.}**

"I have something to tell you." She whispers, voice thick. "I don't want to. I think you'll not want to be my friend after you know it. You'll probably be disgusted."  _An ugly soul to match an ugly face._ "Actually, I think knowing might make you hate me as much as you hate your brothers."

Rickon seems shocked, and entirely doubtful, at her words. He opens his mouth as if to question her, but she shakes her head. He nods in solemn confusion, then pulls her hand towards the back entrance. He guides her through the tunnels, reaching an especially dim corner.

And under the cover of darkness, she tells him the story of her brother.

* * *

**Kinslaying: the sin most certain to split sanity**

* * *

Review pretty please : - ) They help encourage me to keep writing!

See below for  **A/N,**   **Preview, Updated Timeline,** and  **Responses to Reviewers.**

A/N: Can someone please tell me the correct times of when to capitalize Lord / Lady/ Prince / Princess/ King / Queen. I am so lost, and I think I just keep going back and forth as a consequence of it?

A/N: Final call on if you want  **Gendry x Arya** , or  **Jaime x Arya**  to be endgame in this fic.

Likes? Dislikes? Grammar mistakes? Let me know!

And In case you need to cry – check out 0:57 - 1:04 (www) / (watch?v=5sdTm08Ak-c) or youtube " **House Stark | Light Carries On"**

I also started a new fic (because I'm crazy fickle like that) called  **Hallowed Hearts**. Basically a collection of Hogwarts AU Shireen x Rickon and Arya x Gendry stories, for anyone who is interested :-) I also recently updated  **Alloys of Arryn**  (more gendrya, Rickeen later on), so give that a peak if you haven't yet!

* * *

**_Preview_ **

**_(flashes of upcoming chapters)_ **

* * *

~ He thinks the gods are cruel in their japes, to give him his sister only to take her away.

~ "They're going to kill him, aren't they?"/ Tyrion frowns. "No, they can't. He's a Lord Paramount, they'd have no grounds. No reason."/ She scoffs bitterly. "Kings don't need reasons. Or have all those history books taught you nothing."

~ Tyrion's uncertain of how to react when he sees a letter addressed to him, sealed by red wax in the shape of a three-headed dragon.

~ If Lord Tywin was searching for an excuse to be rid of you, you've surely given him that.

~ Jaime adores Shireen, because she is the last piece of Cersei he has left…It is why he keeps her secret.

~ Robb recoils. "I'd never hurt you." / Rhaenys smiles bitterly. "I wonder if the King made pretty promises like yours to my mother when they were betrothed too."

~ First, Rhaeny learns how to weaponize Elia face. Second, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Rhaella's body… "Are you drunk?" / "Not so much that I don't know what I want."/ "And what is it that you want, my Lord?" She eyes him warily. "A kiss. Just one. From the beautiful girl who'll be mine forever."

~Bran appears hesitant to broach his topic… "Lady Shireen is already at the Reach….she would be an appropriate bride to consider."

~ Ser Brynden scowls. "This could end in war, Bran!"/ "It was always going to come to war, uncle. I just put our families on the right side of it." / Brynden sighs deeply, and for once the lines on his face appear deep, and the fabled Blackfish looks his age. "There is no such thing as the right side of war, Brandon."/ Bran pauses before responding. "There is a side that bleeds less. And this time it will be ours."

~ Tell me, does it give you some sort of sick thrill to warm the bed of the family responsible for destroying yours?

~ I know a threat when I see one, Lord Varys. What it is that you want…

~ "Lady Baratheon, where is your crown?" A sinister voice drawls from behind her. Shireen's blood chills.

~"So I prayed to the gods "Take him away, make him die". He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I'd condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods "Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him... And he lived. And I couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family...it's all because I couldn't love a motherless child." ~ Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones 3x02: 'Dark Wings, Dark Words'

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**_Updated Timeline_ **

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(for clarity, I ignored the AC year system)

 **Year -2** :  **Rhaenys Targaryen**  born. Elia takes a very long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.

 **Year 0 –**  Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maesters tell Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die +/- kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant.  **Aegon**   **Targaryen**  born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts.  **Willas Tyrell** is 2 years old,  **Loras Tyrell**  is a year old,  **Renly Baratheon** is 4 years old.

 **Year 1 – Robb Stark**  and  **Margaery Tyrell**  born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea.

 **Year 2 – Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned second Queen. End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy beheaded. Stannis and Renly get their traitor brands. Lannisters pay reparations to the crown. Tyrells denied betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time, though she is one of the females to be considered in the future. Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard.  **Gendry born.**

 **Year 3 –**  Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys.  **Rickon Targaryen**  conceived.  **Sansa Stark**  born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **Year 4**  –  **Shireen Baratheon**  (born to  ** _Cersei Baratheon_** ).  **Rickon Targaryen**  born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him).  **Bran** and  **Arya** –twins– born to Catelyn Stark.

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**_Responses to Reviewers_**

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BIG THANK YOU to my others reviewers **chotkow, scifiromance, Greatstory, stmprklsy, Go_Stark, MogIsMyCatsName** (thanks for the note re: the chapter numbers!), **espadarrota9927, Wilson** (if you go on the ffn version of this story, I commented in the reader review section re: Jon’s character. All I can say is that you're right to be suspicious! I don’t want to give away too much, just know that Jon’s actions will be explained in his POV **!), Kate, Naty31, thedevilmaycrie, issaaabellaaa.** All your kind words leave me grinning for an entire day, and your supper is why this story is still being updated!!! Also big thanks to **AlienoreMathilde** and **Yael** , when I saw your comments and that people were still reading this fic, I definitely sat my butt down and got to typing out the half-done chapter 2c that had been sitting on my laptop since like April.

 

 **lauren+bull** – hope you enjoyed Rhaenys’s POV ;-) Ya this girl isn’t taking any of that sh*t from her family. She’s going full vengeance on them, I promise! I’m glad you commented on the Kingsguard bit – it was totally one of the things that I really wanted to explore. Hopefully you enjoyed Ser Arthur’s POV! Thanks so much for the review :D

 

 **kastanea** – I’m literally squealing after reading your review :D Thank you so much for your kind words, they literally made my day! I am really so glad you like Rhaenys and Rickon’s sibling bond, I can’t wait to write their reunion! Again, thanks so much for such a kind review :’D

 

 **loverofnevillelongbottom** – I’m so happy you stumbled across it : - ) LOL I loved Rickon’s sass in that line too ;) Re: Jon, I don’t want to give away too much, just know that Jon’s actions will be explained in his POV. If you go to the ffn version of this story, I commented in the reader review section re: Jon’s character. He isn’t a complete big bad, but he won’t be cannon Jon either (because like you said, Ned Stark isn’t his father, nor is he constantly trying to be noble to ‘make up’ for being the ‘only stain’ on an honorable man).

 

 **Nchat601** – You’ll find out re: Robb and Rhaenys soon! It’s moreso that Rhaegar – like everyone else  - expects the North to hate Targaryens after the events of chapter 1. There will be a bit more re: the Maidenvault incident when Rhaegar’s POV comes back, I don’t want to spoil too much!

 

 **Imperial_Briton**   - Hopefully Rhaegar’s actions and motives will be a little bit more clear in his POV later, but he definitely is a villain in this story! Sorry you don’t care for the Hunger Games AUs, but hopefully you still give The Great Game a chance to win you over! Alloys of Arryn is up and recently updated, so please do take a peak and see if you enjoy it! LOL not so much Writer’s Block as “filler block.” E.g. this time, I had a huge chunk of this chapter written months ago, but didn’t know how to write the section with the Flea Bottom boys. All I had in my outline was, literally, “part where reader sees how close Rickon is w/ Gendry,Lommy,Hot Pie, Weasel. Add in cute brotherly brotherhood moments.” I needed to write it to post the chapter, but I find fluff so difficult to write sometimes *sweat drop. Hopefully you enjoyed these POVs too!

 

  **CocoMafer** – thanks so much for your review! I’m so happy you like Rhaenys and Rickon, I really tried hard to make their sibling bond super likeable! Jon’s POV is coming up, and hopefully his character/motives/actions will make more sense ;-) I also definitely have fun writing Rhaegar as a villain, mostly because I find him portrayed way too saintly in all the fics I read. Don’t worry, Arya and Bran are coming up soon!

 

 **VenueWings** – thank you so much for such a kind review! You will definitely be getting more Cersei and Stannis, I am so happy their ship was so well received! I was definitely expecting backlash when I posted that tag :P Hopefully you enjoyed the Rickon and Rhaenys bits in this chapter! I promise, they have a plan ;) Re: Jon, see above reviews, but let’s just say he has a reason, but he won’t be let off the hook too easily. Hope you enjoyed Arthur’s POV! Happy to see the timeline is helping! I know whenever I read AUs (especially ones where chapters take as long as mine to update), I appreciate the refresher to fully appreciate where everyone is at.

 

 **Mirabella** – Thanks so much for your kind words, I literally grinned throughout your entire review! Happy to see that people liked Cersei, I really did enjoy writing her as “Lady Baratheon”. You’ll hopefully really like next chapter, where we see Tyrion coming to Storm’s End to a Cersei that doesn’t despise him. Thanks again for your kind words!

 

 **Avalon__Kitsune & AlienoreMathilde** – Sam is definitely one of my favourite cannon characters, so I use every excuse I can to include him in my fics :P I’m so happy Rhaenys and Rickon’s sibling bond is believable and likeable, I really tried hard to get you guys to cheer for them : - ) RE: Jon, see above comments, but I promise you are right to have questions about his true character/ his motives!

 

 **GlitsyLissy** – LOL I literally have a document with a timeline on it to keep it all sorted in my head :P That being said, I have more than once had to go back and edit a posted chapter because I made a timeline error *sweatdrop. Good to know people are finding the timeline helpful! Hope you enjoy the newest chapter!

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 Please remember to review! : - ) 


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